


The Merger

by WriterChick



Series: The Baelishes [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Break Up, Dark Sansa, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Guns, Loud Sex, Marriage Proposal, Masturbation, Mind Games, Mob Boss Petyr, Obsessiveness, Organized Crime, Possessiveness, Public Sex, Shooting Guns, Trust Issues, Violence, Voyeurism, cunni, mob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-16 00:05:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 70,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8079127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterChick/pseuds/WriterChick
Summary: Part 3 to The Baelishes Series  -- Modern AU With Petyr, there was no escape, and she didn’t feel like she needed one.  She also didn’t know what it felt like to never need one, and that intimidated her.





	1. Putting the Dog Down

 

 

BANG!  She barely felt him grip her tighter in response.  BANG!  The kick-back pushed her into his hard frame bracing her from behind.  BANG!  The last shot reverberated through her body.  Her ears rang for a moment as she watched blood pour out of the beast in front of her-- the Hound.  She smiled as she saw Clegane’s mouth open and the veins tighten in his neck.  His greasy curls slapped against his cheek as he fought his restraints.  Slowly her hearing returned as she listened to the delightful sound of death screams.  

Retribution was euphoric.  Years of planning, of hating, and needing all came down to this moment.  These shots.  These screams.  Something stirred in her belly, a new need arose as her mind returned to the man behind her.  He was not bulky and hulking like the Hound, but he was strong and solid, and supporting her.  Sansa always supported herself.  To allow herself to give in even the slightest was terrifying.  But here she was, leaning against Petyr, his arms enveloping her, the scent of his cologne, calming her nerves.  She barely heard the Hound’s raspy cough, “Dumb bitch can’t even kill me right.”  

She allowed a light laugh to escape her lips as she considered his stupidity.  He was dead alright, he was just too dumb to realize it.  Maybe it was hope that kept him thinking he had a chance.  Her mother was never allowed hope.  Why should she allow him to have any?  His loud yells and moans were music to her ears as she felt Petyr slide around to face her.  His hands never left her and it only encouraged her tingling arousal even more.  

His eyes questioned her.  Littlefinger didn’t know something.  Sansa smiled as she leaned into his mouth kissing him with the passion she felt coursing through her.  Her need grew with each howl she heard.  As if possessed, she pressed herself to him, needing to be touched.  Every inch of her craved the stimulation of his body against hers.  Her blood pressure raised with the need to fly over the edge.  

She nibbled on Petyr’s lip, hoping he would understand her need.  Seconds later, she felt the hard bulge in his pants press against her.  She grinded against him, unable to stop herself from chasing the pressure he could provide.  She moved from his mouth, showing him that she wanted more.  She trailed kisses down his neck as she slid her hands on his chest.  Petyr began massaging her back, pushing her further into him.  She sighed in pleasure when he reciprocated, granting her this endowment.  

Unable to stand it anymore, she decided to be as direct as possible.  Without warning, she slid her hands down his pants and wrestled his dick out of his boxers, gripping it firmly.  It was so hard and veiny, ready to pillage and plunder.  Yes.  Please.  She mentally shook herself and remembered not to beg.  She needed it, yes.  And he would do what she told him to.  

She pulled away from Petyr and looked over his shoulder to check on her artwork.  His screams had gone quiet, his voice lost in the stress of his screeches.  She couldn’t see him, and then she realized that in the frenzy of appealing her needs to Baelish, they had turned and the Hound was now behind her.  Alive still.  Relief that his death was not quick washed over her as she realized he was still watching her.  She wasn’t ready for him to die yet.  She wanted him to keep watching, to see her rub and grab and lick and bite his bitter rival, Littlefinger.  She inhaled at the realization of it and grinned back at Petyr, “Gut shots take longer to die from.  The last thing he’ll see is you fucking me.  And I’ll get off as I watch him die.”  

If it were any other man, she would not have said that.  Not been so honest.  But if anyone could understand baser needs and the ugly underbelly of revenge, it was Littlefinger.  Not allowing him a moment to think about what she said, she pointed behind him, “Pick me up and set me on that contractor table so I can still see him.”  

She watched Petyr hesitate, looking at the Hound, thinking about what he was witnessing.  To help him along she pulled the belt of her coat loose, allowing the sides to fall open, exposing her nakedness underneath.  Suddenly she was up in the air, legs wrapped around Petyr, gliding backwards, zooming out on the bloody massacre in front of her.  She giggled at the feeling of paper crumpling beneath her on the table.  She spread her legs wide in invitation and watched him pull his belt open.  She stared back at his grey-green eyes and watched as wheels turned behind them.  And then he dropped down between her legs.  She shivered as she felt his hot breath tickle her sex.  The feel of his lips kissing hers, as he licked along her seam, constricted her nipples into taute peaks and stirred the ache in her breasts.  

She gasped as she felt his tongue slide into her folds and find her nub.  His arms came up and gripped her thighs to steady her as he pushed deeper and deeper into her.  Her back arched reflexively at the welcome invasion and her head fell back as she gasped for air.  He circled her clit and sucked on it intermittently.  She moaned in response as she brought her head back up and looked ahead.  The Hound had grown quieter and his skin a milky white, pale from blood loss.  She felt pride swell in her chest as she tingled with the attention she was getting.  

She brought her hand down and pet Petyr’s head.  She wanted to speak.  She wanted to tell him that he was perfect, just what she needed.  That is was good, great, fucking fantastic.  But she couldn’t.  Words caught in her mouth and she clenched her fingers in his hair as she felt a wave of pleasure roll deep within her.  She was sure she could feel him smile as she whimpered with her closeness.  

He ripped his lips from hers and she sat there splayed out in shock at the harsh cold that washed over her womanhood.  She growled, “What the --!”  And then her breath caught in her throat, her eyes grew as wide as they possibly could, and her heart bashed against the confines of her ribcage.  

She was nose to nose with him, smelling herself on his face.  His goatee was drenched in her wetness and dripping on her throat as she held the full length of him firmly inside of her.  It had happened so fast, she was not prepared, the fit was too tight, and she breathed heavy at the pressure she felt low in her belly.  

Somehow he knew.  Men didn’t know these things, but he seemed to.  He held still, moving only to wrap his arm around her and pull her closer to him.  He panted against her, clearly pained by holding himself in check.  She looked past him at the Hound.  His head had drooped forward and his breath was loud and crackling.  She grabbed a handful of Petyr’s ass and tugged him.  He slowly pulled back and pushed in.  She shivered with the feel of him sliding back and pushing forward, awakening the bundle of nerves between her legs.  She wanted to speed him up, make him jack-hammer her, and come violently.  

She peered over Petyr’s shoulder and looked at the disfigured body slumped motionless and drenched in sweat and blood.  Was he dead?  She couldn’t tell.  She leaned forward hoping to see better but stopped when she heard a shaky breath by her ear.  Petyr’s eyes arrested her.  They caught her attention and plead to keep it.  

This was different to her, like in the limo.  This was not your typical bump and grind, there was more here.  As she started to feel intimidated by the gravity of what they were doing, she heard his velvety voice purr, “ _Breathe_.”  And she remembered that she wasn’t.  She drew in a long, uncertain breath as she felt him glide into her and butt up against her insides.  A wave of heat washed over her as she held his gaze.  

She breathed out as he pulled back and she suddenly felt a new panic come over her.  She worried that he would disconnect from her completely, leaving her alone to carry this foreign feeling all by herself.  It was irrational, and she knew it, but desperation rarely is rational.  Reminding herself again to breathe, she inhaled and felt filled by him again.  She snuggled into the warmth of his chest and clenched herself around him tightly, refusing to let him go.  As she exhaled, he kept her to his chest as he rocked his hips back.  

She discovered that he was setting his rhythm to her breathing.  Before she could respond to this new realization, she felt all of her insides constrict and burst.  She cried out involuntarily, losing all control.  She pulsed around him and bucked into him with reckless abandon.  He pumped into her steadily, gripping her tightly to him, letting little moans and sighs escape before he finally went rigid under her grasp.  As she lilted down from her ecstasy, she ran her hands over his back, rippled with every muscle flexed.  She cooed into his chest, “ _Breathe_.”  And she felt him spray inside her as he forcefully exhaled above her head.  Both of them were slowly finding reality, and both of them refused to let go of each other.           

After a while, the breeze of the open building chilled their damp, sweaty bodies.  Petyr pulled away from her and pulled the sides of her coat together, tying her belt to keep it closed.  He rubbed his hands over her back briskly in an effort to warm her up.  She looked up at him, her eyes big with reverie.  He smiled down, gripping her face and kissing her forehead.  He pulled himself together, putting all of his clothes back in place, and then held his hand out for her.  

She accepted his help and gingerly scooted off of the table.  Embarrassment flashed across her face as she realized the puddle that they left all over the papers on the desk.  Petyr chuckled and reached over, taking it and crumpling it up.  As he passed a big contractor bag, he tossed it in with all the bits of insulation and wood pieces that gathered in there.  She looked at him incredulously as he held out his arm for her to join him.  She fell into place, folded in his arm, and they walked together.  

“What about him?” Sansa couldn’t help but ask.  She had thought about killing the Hound thousands of times.  She had thought about how giddy she would feel as she watched him bleed and struggle, gurgling his pleas for life.  As the years passed by, she considered clean up.  Each time she was handling it by herself.  Sometimes she would picture Jon lifting heavy garbage bags for her.  She didn’t specifically count on it, though.  She had never in a million years dreamed of sharing this with someone else and she wasn’t sure she knew how.  

Petyr lead them into the elevator and pushed the ground floor button.  “It’s all taken care of.  I’ve commissioned disposal on top of the acquisition.”  

She wasn’t certain she knew what he meant, but she had an idea.  The elevator stopped and they stepped out to see Bronn holding a gun on Jon.  Her stomach jumped into her chest as she bolted forward.  “Put that fucking gun down, now!”  She commanded.  

Both men turned to face her in surprise.  Jon looked guilty and shook his head back and forth.  Petyr caught up beside her, “What is the meaning of this?”  

Jon’s hands flew up and he began signing, “Ok!  Danger, no!”

Bronn dropped the gun, and hunched over.  He braced himself against his thighs and gave a hearty laugh.  “Holy fucking hell.  I did _not_ see that coming.  You, Snow, are fucking good.”  

Sansa’s brow furrowed in confusion.  Petyr stood beside her, “What’d Snow say?”

She shook her head and said, “okay--no danger…”

Bronn clasped a hand on Jon’s shoulder, his own grin touching his eyes.  “All this time I just thought you were the strong silent type.”  He let out another chuckle.  “Didn’t know you were deaf and dumb, explains why you’re shit at cards.”  

Sansa felt anger boil inside of her.  Jon guarded her, protected her, and trusted her.  She would not stand back and allow him to be disrespected, not after all they had been through over the years.  “Shut your mouth before I find someone who will.”  

His eyebrows shot up, “Really?”  He turned to Petyr, “I notice you’re not bothered.”  

Petyr spoke evenly, “He is her cousin.”  

Jon shook his head, pleading with Sansa to back off.  She stood her ground.  “He’s not deaf, and people don’t say ‘dumb’ anymore.  Cousin or not, he deserves a shred of decency.  So I’m going to say it again, shut your fucking mouth.”

After silence so thick it could be chewed, Bronn spoke first.  “It’s important to protect family.  I didn’t mean any offense.”  

Sansa relaxed a little, “Why were you holding a gun on him?”  

Bronn started to laugh and Jon brought his hand up to cover his blushing face and rub his forehead in embarrassment.  “I was trying to teach him how to disarm me.”  

Petyr sighed beside her.  She didn’t understand, “Show me.”  

Jon dropped his hand and looked up at her.  He was clearly checking to see how serious she was.  She meant it, she wanted to see how Jon would react, if Bronn was telling the truth.  Bronn held the gun up to Jon’s head and Jon instantly brought one of his hands up, wrapping it around the barrel of the gun and he cupped his other hand and drove it into Bronn’s wrist.  

Bronn released his grip and Jon tugged the gun out of his hand.  Bronn’s face lit up in a toothy grin, “See!  That’s what I’m saying!  You’ve got to cup your hand.  Just like that!”  

She heard Petyr’s voice rumble beside her, “If you’re all done, it’s time for clean up.”  

Bronn nodded back at him and said, “So if you’re both an item now, does that mean I can get Johnny-boy here to lend me a hand.  That fucker upstairs was heavy.”

Sansa paused.  Jon never left her side.

Petyr turned to Sansa, giving her a questioning look as he said, “It’s up to her.”  

She stared straight ahead at Jon, mulling it over, searching for any indication from him that he would be upset with this arrangement.  He looked back at her blankly.  

Bronn pulled him closer, rubbing a fist into his hair, “Come on!  I’ll bring him home by curfew and treat him with respect the whole time.”   He gave an exaggerated wink.  

Much to Sansa’s surprise, Jon was smiling.  He hardly ever smiled, afraid someone would see what he was lacking.  She reluctantly nodded.  “Okay.”  

Bronn smiled to Sansa, “Much obliged.”  Then he turned to Jon and held his hands up.  “I’m sorry!  I can’t offer any cheap thrills.  I promised to be a gentleman.”       

Jon rolled his eyes and walked toward the building, Bronn trailing behind.  

Petyr led her to the car and the events of the night ran through her mind, leaving her feeling weightless, as if nothing was grounding her.  Petyr gave the driver her address as they got in back.  She laid her head on his chest because it felt right.  She didn’t know why--maybe she was in shock.  She wanted to say it was from killing a man, but felt like there was more to it than that.  She stared at the rise and fall of his chest while she replayed their encounter in her head.  She closed her eyes only to recall the image of his grey-green eyes staring back at her and his warm voice urging her to breathe.  

Before she knew it, she felt the car stop and Petyr spoke gently into her hair, “You are home.”

She sat up and tucked her hair behind her ears, gathering her senses.  She offered him a quick smile and then turned away opening the car door.  She stepped out of the vehicle and started walking toward her home.  She was about halfway up the path when she noticed Petyr beside her.  What was he doing?  Didn’t he realize that the night was over.  What more did he want?  She schooled her face to not show the mild irritation she felt.  She opened her front door and Petyr stood holding it for her, including himself every step of the way.  

They advanced and in the middle of her entryway was a pile of purple fabric.  Before she could pick it up, Petyr darted in front of her and snatched it.  “You’re all done with these now.”  His voice low and assuring.  

She realized that he was probably trying to comfort her, let her know her the days of letting her mother’s killer climb inside her were over.  That was kind of him.  What he didn’t realize is that she was not upset by the things the Hound did.  She often times didn’t feel as though she were there for them anyway, always floating away.  And she told herself repeatedly that the condom shielded her body from him and therefore she had never truly had to feel him.  She created rules to minimize the effect of the Hound on her and wore the babydoll style specifically as a means of creating a uniform for the job.  She donned the costume and allowed her mind to take her away.  It was not frightening or upsetting, not with all her modifications and stipulations.  

What was daunting was her encounters with Petyr.  In the limo, he wouldn’t let her mind wander, telling her to stay with him, to see and feel what they did together.  Again, this evening, he pulled her back to him, to them.  Being fully present with another human being was extremely uncomfortable, she often felt the need to get away.  With Petyr, there was no escape, and she didn’t feel like she needed one.  She also didn’t know what it felt like to never need one, and that intimidated her.    

He clutched her hand, clearly not wanting to let go.  She looked at him and squeezed his palm before letting go and saying, “I should put something on.”  He stood, leaning forward, but not moving and she realized he wasn’t sure if he should follow or not.  She wasn’t sure either.  She took a deep breath and extended herself, “Coming up?”

He smiled and took an eager step forward, following her up the stairs.  She lead him around the corner to her bedroom and stopped in front of her closet.  She looked at her clothes, pushing hangers back.  He stood looking at her.  As the hangers passed by, her nighties came into view and Petyr reached past her, pulling them down one by one.  She was somewhat conscious of the fact that he was there and that she wanted to look attractive to him regardless of what would come next.  She stared at him and raised one of her eyebrows, “How can I put something on if you keep taking my clothes away?”  

Petyr looked at the pile of lingerie that filled his arms and then back up at her sheepishly, “I will buy you more.”  

She stood speechless at how brash he was being with her belongings.  He then reached past the hanging clothes to a pair of sweatpants folded on the shelf and a tank top next to it.  He handed them to her and said, “Here, you look great in these.”  

Her eyes shot up and she stared into the grey-green pools in front of her.  She wanted to ask how he would know, but she knew how.  She had encouraged him to watch her, though she had not expected that he would be so good at it.  For a moment, she wondered what else he had seen.  A small smirk crept on his face and he said, “After you’re dressed, meet me on the patio.”  

Before she could say anything, he was out the door.  She shrugged off her coat and pulled her clothes on.  She looked in the mirror at her completely relaxed look and felt oddly comfortable with allowing herself to be so casual.  No one, save for her family, saw her this way.  Certainly not any man.  She didn’t know exactly what it was about Petyr but he was the exception to the rule.  

As she made her way downstairs, she smelled something burning and quickened her pace.  She pushed passed the sliding glass doors and found Petyr standing over her grill with a pair of tongs, stoking her lingerie over the open flame.  

She would have asked him what he was doing, but she knew.  Sansa felt that on any normal day she would have been angry with this, maybe raised her voice and gave a fierce expression.  She would have exuded power and influence as she verbally battered the offender for having the audacity to affect her personal things.  She just did not have it in her, and as she stared down at the tatters of cloth turning black, she found it oddly soothing.  

Petyr wrapped his arm around her waist as they both looked at the grill and he said, “He can no longer touch you.  He’s all gone now.  You aren’t his any longer.”  

Sansa stared into the flame and considered her freedom from the Hound and her binding to Petyr.  He had told her that she was his.  And she had nodded, she _agreed._  Why on Earth would she do that?  Because it was automatic, and felt right.  But did she know what she was getting into?  What did being Baelish’s woman entail?  

Sansa remembered the intimacy required in their joining, and squirmed at the discomfort of allowing anyone so close, as that did not come naturally to her.  She turned her gaze from the fire in her grill to the fire in his eyes and found herself leaning into him.  Her arms reached up and wrapped around his neck.  She grazed his lips with hers, unsure at first, but searching for answers.  What came next?  Now that she was free from the Hound would he still continue to crave her?  Would he always demand such a high level of attention and intimacy in their relationship?  Could she give it to him?  

His lips took over, bringing them back to their familiar dance.  She smiled into his mouth as she felt the comfort of sharing something familiar with him.  

The sun was rising behind them, as he gently pulled them apart and looked down at her, “You must be exhausted.  Do you want to lay down?”

She did.  But she also wanted some time on her own to digest everything.  “I can’t.  I should get to work.”  

He stood for a moment, searching her eyes.  She pressed forward, “Thank you for everything.  It’s time we take the next step.”  She gestured to the grill, “New clothes, new day.”  

Petyr agreed giving her a parting kiss, and left her on her patio.  She turned the knobs off and closed the lid to extinguish the flames.  Feeling completely unsure of what to do next and completely disconnected from reality, she turned and wandered towards the house.  She looked down and saw a new copy of the newspaper on the ground by her door and she instantly walked over to her coffeemaker, taking comfort in the stability of her morning routine.            


	2. Kill Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya pushed further, as sisters are prone to do, “Tell me, is everything little?”

Sansa’s phone buzzed,  _ Pacino or Deniro?  _

Sansa looked at her phone and smiled at their ongoing dialogue.  It had been a week since she put down the Hound, and to her blooming pleasure, Petyr had hardly left her alone.  He visited her at work, stopped by her house, and picked her up for her 10:00am coffee-run almost daily.  When they were apart he constantly engaged her in conversation via text about anything and everything.  Sansa had always been the epitome of lone wolf, always preferring her own company and finding male attention to be clingy--suffocating, and a means to an end.  

She did not however, feel that way when Petyr would appear at the art gallery to take her home.  In fact, each time her phone buzzed her stomach fluttered as she checked to see if the message was from him.  Each time it was, she found she could not contain her smile.  She wasn’t sure why she felt so differently with Petyr, and sometimes she picked at the feeling, reminding herself to proceed with caution.  She was involved with  _ Littlefinger _ , after all.  Things did not end well for women who upset men like Littlefinger.   She had never intended for things to progress as they had.  

She remembered the first time she saw him in person; he was looking at her from across the Doghouse.  She recognized him from her research.  In real life, she thought he’d be smaller, uglier, similar to the Hound in some way.  As he approached, dropping the drugs on the table, she got a better look at him.  He was chiseled and distinguished.  Where Sandor was large and cut, Petyr was sculpted and proportioned, regal even. Sandor was loud and crass, barking orders and accolades alike.  This man, with the silver sideburns and calming grey eyes, oozed confidence and experience as his voice poured over the table.  She felt a warmth between her legs in response to the power he exuded.    

When Sandor told her to show her tits to the crowd, she felt her stomach turn.  She never would have done it.  Whores did those sorts of things, not Sansa.  She was trying her hand at a relationship.  Not a real one, obviously.  But she needed him to feel like it was.  He needed to be trained that relationships don’t include whores, not the marriage material ones anyway.  

She wasn’t going to show anything, but something in her really wanted to.  It was the naughty part of herself that she tried to keep under control, the exhibitionist side.  Looking across the table at the steady green pools gazing back at her, she traced the outline of her dress, wanting to slide it down and pull her breast into view.  She remembered wondering if Petyr would like it or not.  She was glad that reason won over and she convinced Sandor to drop the subject.  She shook her head at the memory of what she had to agreed to do behind closed doors to save herself the public degradation.  

_ You go first. _  She responded.  

She was used to floating away when the Hound pawed at her.  Her mind usually went to her memory of when she lost her virginity.  That wasn’t the best sexual encounter of her life; it was clumsy, sloppy, rushed, and underwhelming.  But it did not make her hate herself.  Harrold Hardyng was not a bad man, he was simply eager and inexperienced and he served her purposes--practice.  In her plan to get close to the man with the burns, she knew she would have to let men she wasn’t attracted to and didn’t want enjoy her body.  After all was said and done, Harrold was heartbroken when she was all done with him, and Sansa was that much closer to her goal.  When she laid beneath the Hound and he tugged, poked, and prodded her, she floated away pretending it was clumsy Harry.  Replacing Clegane with Harry helped her not dry heave at his touch.  The night she saw him in the Doghouse however, Petyr’s face kept invading her thoughts as Sandor touched her in all the wrong places at the wrong times, leaving her utterly disappointed and frustrated.  

Then she saw Petyr at the gala with Margaery Tyrell.  Her research had revealed that he and the Tyrells were amicable, though not close.  Sansa had researched all the major players so she would know how they were connected to Clegane.  She wanted to see if she could use any of  those connections.  She had learned that Petyr wasn’t much of a ladies man.  She saw no evidence of any real relationships, only one-night stands and escorts.  But there was Margaery Tyrell, looking radiant in her open-front burgundy dress, hanging off his arm.  Sansa found herself irritated at the coupling.  She knew it was preposterous as she had no investment either way; she was on a mission, working Clegane.  

She knew she needed to stay focused, get Baelish out of her head.  She decided to approach him, thinking of only two possible outcomes.  Either he would be interested and she could satisfy her fantasy or he would be put off by how direct she was.  Men like Baelish were not used to women as strong as Sansa and she felt she could drive him away with her confidence and audacity.  She saw in his face however that she did not deter him, if anything she sparked his interest.  Her plan had backfired, and she found herself not upset about it.  

She looked down at her phone seeing Petyr’s response,  _ Deniro.   _

_ Because of the Godfather? _  She shot back.  

She remembered trying to redirect her interest as the weeks passed by.  She listened closer to Clegane’s conversations to see if anything involved Littlefinger.  Her ears would perk up and she would try to find out more, always wondering if he would be where they were going.  And then she saw that snot-nosed blonde following too close behind her.  She looked into it and discovered he was one of the Lannister boys.  She wanted to be annoyed, angered even.  But part of herself felt excited over the idea that Baelish was watching her.  Had they taken pictures?  What was she doing?  Did she look nice?  Questions flooded her brain as she considered being the object of someone’s attention.  She knew it was wrong, but it was that little exhibitionist side creeping out again.  She had wondered how long it had been going on.  

She did not know what came over her but she felt like she needed to reach out to him, let him know that she knew.  As much as she secretly enjoyed the attention, she knew that she had to show him that she was not clueless.  She had Jon beat Joffery as she wrote to Petyr in her lipstick across the boy’s forehead.  Her connections had died with the passing of her parents, but she still had some muscle and she knew how to send an invitation.  

As he sat in her office, she devoured him with her eyes, his face, his chest, the way his hands gripped the arms of the chair.  Before she knew what she was doing she was encouraging him to keep watching, exposing her secret naughty side to him.  

_ No--Goodfellas.  Your turn.   _

She tried to console herself at the time, thinking that he would never tell anyone about her secret desire to be watched.  What did it matter if he knew?  He was nothing to her, until Highgarden.  He had been paying attention to her.  For a man that she had only laid eyes on a handful of times, he knew more about her than the man she attached herself to, and that was arousing.  Add to that, the fact that he actually worked for her, flexed his influence and possibly ruined a man’s life simply because she found him irritating.  

And then there was that kiss.  It was nothing short of pornographic.  She was pinned against the wall, hands frustratingly full, unable to escape or engross herself in the kiss.  Her only chance at survival was to best him, to bite him.  She rested her head against the wall, watching, waiting to see him become angry.  But he didn’t.  He appeared almost appreciative of her rough touch.  It was then that she decided to engage him further.  She told herself that either he could be of use to her or at the very least she would have her fill of him and be done.  

Their  _ date _ was exhilarating and unlike any date she had ever been on.  She had never in a million years expected that he would ever show her any of his operations.  She was with the Hound, after all.  All that time she was focused on her own feelings about Petyr, but him allowing her such an inside view to his world gave her pause.  What was his game?  She had decided earlier that she was going to fuck him, end the infatuation with the disappointment of reality.  She figured he’d be a selfish lover, important men usually were.  They were so used to being the center of attention, that they had forgotten how to think of others.  

He handed her the Beretta and wrapped himself around her, under the pretense of teaching her how to aim.  She smiled at the memory of playing ignorant; she not only knew how to shoot, but also about the gun she was holding.  The Beretta-92 was the standard sidearm for the military, and therefore a dime a dozen.  She figured it was his favorite because of how interchangeable it was.  People in his position needed to be able to switch out with what was readily available.  

The way he rubbed against her as he held her, awakened all of her nerve-endings.  Men grabbed and jabbed.  Petyr however, was continuous, massaging.  She began to melt under his touch, awakening only when she lost concentration and shot out the window.  Her heart swelled at the memory of him covering her with himself before realizing that she squeezed the trigger in response to his kiss on her neck.  It wasn’t until he pulled her into the office to show her the bloody pulp that was her former neighbor, that she lost all control, pouncing on him.  She clutched him close as she drove kisses into his mouth, moaning appreciation when he gripped her ass.  She was falling apart in his arms and she knew she had to escape.  Sansa Stark could not fall apart.    

She typed,  _ Pacino. _

He wouldn’t let her escape though.  He texted her to let her know that he was still watching, hanging on.  She remembered sitting next to the Hound, his hand on her leg and her hand on her phone, feeling butterflies in her stomach at the knowledge that Baelish was spying.  She scanned the room trying to find him, and couldn’t.  Of course, he was too clever for that.  He would only be found if he wanted to be.  When he materialized, she wanted nothing more than to feel him against her again.  

She had waited for him in one of the back rooms, with a young girl, too scared to perform.  Like in all things, Sansa was divided.  On one hand, she wanted to assuage her worry.  She was much younger than she ought to be for this work.  Sansa was not entirely heartless, she thought of her younger sister and was compelled to comfort.  On the other, more practical hand she saw the girl not working.  It was a business and if she was going to be in this line of work she would have to work.  

Sansa recounted the tale of how she got her wolf pelt, hoping to kill both birds with her boulder of a story.  But it had awakened something in her that she had not expected.  She gave the girl her necklace as a kindness, and pushed her out the door hoping to find Petyr.  She both needed to be close to him and far away.  It was then that she felt she needed sex to fix what she was struggling with.  She would get the closeness she craved, but then she could escape as she floated away.  But again, he wouldn’t let her.  He pulled her face back to his and breathed, “Stay with me.”  

How did he know?  She suddenly felt so naked, so bare.  He had seen her, completely.  He knew her secret, and it sent her over the edge rocking in his lap, coming undone.  

She avoided him after that.  He got what he wanted.  Bang a redhead.  Schtup a Stark.  Boff the Hound’s girl.  He should have left her alone.  But he wouldn’t.  

She stood in her kitchen on the verge of tears, wanting to answer him, wanting to let him see her completely again.  But terrified of the exposure all the same.  

_ Are you just disagreeing with me?   _ She could almost hear his playful voice as she read his message.  

He showed up at her house and slept with her.   _ Slept.   _ That was a first for her.  Somewhere along the way she had convinced herself if she never slept over or allowed them to spend the night, it could be forgotten.  An encounter from days gone past, ancient history.  

She woke up that morning under the weight of her emotions, knowing that she must push them aside and focus on what she had come to do:  kill the Hound.  Petyr was a lovely distraction, but a distraction all the same.  As hard as it was, she pushed him away again.  She hoped for the last time, as she was going to return to him when it was all over.  But he wouldn’t let her.  He made her let him help.  Sansa didn’t take well to being made to do anything.  But as she stood in front of the Hound, beaten and gagged, having willed away everything to her under duress she couldn’t help but allow it.  Petyr held her as she shot and rather than feeling like he was clinging to her like she may have any other man, she felt him bracing and supporting her.  Not because she needed it, but because he wanted to.  The emotion of it all overcame her and she needed to feel him inside of her.  She hadn’t planned to float away, but she didn’t expect to be so present either.  He commanded her attention and gave her his, limitlessly.

_ No _ , she replied.  

Sansa pulled herself from her memories and waved to Jon and motioned to close the blinds.  She didn’t know if Petyr still watched her as he had before, but in that moment she wanted to make sure that she was not seen.  Sansa liked the attention of being watched, but she also enjoyed having her secrets, and enjoyed them even more so now that someone was trying to learn them all.  

Jon and her snuck out the back of the art gallery and loaded into her Mercedes.  As Sansa drove, Jon flashed his phone at her.  It was a video of a news clip broadcasting pictures of the Hound’s horribly disfigured face.  Headlines read,  _ Sandor “the Hound” Clegane:  Notorious head of the Clegane crime family officially missing.   _

Sansa felt a nervous jump in her stomach.  She knew that there would be media coverage, but couldn’t help feeling shaken over the attention drawn.  She nodded, trying to present confidence.  Jon continued to look at her and then he dropped the phone and signed to her.  He asked her if she was alright and told her not to worry.  He told her that no one would find him, not after he and Bronn poured the concrete, making him a part of the flooring of the building under construction.  She smiled and said, “I know.  It’s all over.”  She said it for him, but she benefitted from the reminder as well.  

As they pulled into the shooting range she read Petyr’s response,  _ Was it Scarface that won your vote? _

She smiled and wrote,  _ Serpico.   _

Instantly, he replied,  _ The cop who can’t be corrupted?   _

_ Yes. _  She stepped out of the car and Jon handed her a black case.  

Her phone dinged in response as she entered the building.   _ Did you forget what I do?   _

She uttered a soft chuckle,  _ Nope.   _

She set the case on the counter, and took her coat off, hanging it on the hook of the demi-wall.  Her phone buzzed,  _ You wound me woman.   _

Her grin spread across her face freely.  “That happy to see me are ya?”  Sansa startled mildly.  

“Arya.”  She acknowledged, eyes wide, mouth gaping at her, “What happened to you?”  

The short wiry brunette stood smiling before her, face covered in bruises, left eye blackened, and her chin scabbed over.  Her lips cracked as she said, “You should see the other guy!”  

Sansa was not in the laughing mood.  “I have no doubts that you handled the situation.  My question is, why did you have to?  What provoked this?”  

Arya chuckled, “Stupid shit that seemed important at the time.  It doesn’t now.”  She set a bulky cloth rolled up on the counter in the stall next to Sansa.  “We’re alone.  No one to bitch at us.”  

Sansa knew she was talking about the protective goggles and headphones.  Arya was very vocal about how much she hated wearing them and Sansa wasn’t much of a fan either, but could appreciate the protection they provided.  “Your point?”  

“Pussies wear protection.”  Arya smiled sideling at Sansa.  

Sansa smiled back and opened the case in front of her, “Good thing you can’t be a pussy if you have a pussy.” 

Arya nodded affectionately and untied and unrolled the cloth.  Both women stood before an array of pistols.  As they looked down, choosing their weapons, Arya was the first to speak, “So, you’re fucking Littlefinger, huh?”  

Sansa froze, hovering over her counter.  Arya loved to do that to her, surprise her with blunt statements that always rang true.  Sansa’s only counter was to act unaffected, “For now.”  

“He came by Wolfswood asking about you.  He’s into you.  Serious.”  Arya loaded a magazine.  

Sansa felt a small burst of excitement as she schooled her face.  “Then I’m doing something right.” 

Arya pushed further, as sisters are prone to do, “Tell me, is  _ everything _ little?”  

Sansa gave her a dirty look and remained silent.  Arya didn’t need to know how endowed he was.  

“He’s old too -- does everything even work?”  Arya’s dimples shone through the black and blue shadows that covered her cheeks.  

“Well enough not to blow his load in 30 seconds like guys our age.”  Sansa’s voice carried an edge to it, warning her to leave her sex life alone.  

Arya laughed, “So, is he who you want followed?”  

Sansa loaded her magazine, “Can your girl do it?”  

“Shae?”  Arya loaded the clip in her gun and looked up at her enthusiastically, “If anyone can, it’s her.  That chick is slippery as shit.  She’s done higher profile work before.  What do you want on him?  Find out who else he’s fucking?”  

_ Who else he’s fucking. _  The thought never entered her mind.  She scolded herself for being so foolish.  Powerful men weren’t typically monogamous men.  Of course he was probably fucking someone on the side.  He spent so much time with her that he couldn’t have been.  She shook it off and acted nonchalant, “Well, that would be good to know.  But ultimately, I just want a report of his comings and goings.  I want know more about him, see what I’m dealing with.”  

“Smart.”  Arya nodded and motioned towards the target.  

Both sisters turned and took their positions.  Sansa lined up her sight and was ready to fire when she heard Arya speak behind her pistol, “Remember what Dad always told us, Kill-Shots only.”  

And then Sansa fell inside herself.  Dad.  She was ten again, her father’s hands clasped over hers, his voice in her ear, “Kill-Shots only.  No need to make them suffer -- their death makes your point clear enough.  No need to rub it in.”

A wave of sadness overtook her as she realized her actions the other night would have disappointed him.  She thought,  _ Sorry Dad.  It was for Mom.   _ And then she quietly said, “They weren’t though, I wanted him to suffer.  Three gut-shots.”  

She said it outloud for Arya to hear, to feel comforted in the retribution, and to confess to someone how far from Ned’s teachings she’d strayed.  Immediately after she said it though, she had hoped Arya hadn’t heard it.  No such luck.  

Her bruised and battered face lifted from behind the gun as she stared wide-eyed at Sansa.  She blinked a couple of times and then burst, “Holy fuck-sticks, you did it!  You got him.  The man with the burns.”  

Sansa looked back at her, unmoving.  

Arya’s voice shrilled, “Tell me everything!”  

Sansa flashed back to the image of the Hound bleeding out in the chair he was bound to, and the feel of Petyr between her legs, drawing her attention back to him, to what they were sharing.  “No.”  

“Fuck you!”  Arya shouted at her.  

Sansa drew a long breath and apologized, “It’s over Arya.  Don’t make me relive it.  Things don’t always feel the way you expect them to.”  

There was a long pause.  And then Arya spoke evenly, “Three gut-shots?”  

Sansa nodded.  

Arya picked her gun up again.  “A lot messier than you planned.”  

Sansa looked back, unwilling to show any emotion for fear of breaking down in front of her little sister.  She knew that Arya could see through the tough older sister facade, and she was thankful that Arya was kind enough to ignore what she saw.  

Arya turned back towards the target, “Glad it’s over.”  She raised the gun as she said, “Now let’s shoot some shit.”  

And they did.  A lot.  Time escaped them as they emptied clip after clip, laughing as they shot smiley faces into the paper targets.  

As they slowed down, Arya noticed, “The Glock is your choice piece, but you’re favoring the Beretta…” 

Sansa hadn’t noticed, “It’s good to be versatile.”  

Arya wouldn’t buy it.  Her eyebrow arched as she asked with a smirk, “Did  _ he _ give you the Beretta?”  

Sansa remained silent as she disarmed her guns and loaded them in the case.    

“Oh my god!”  Arya exclaimed.  “You’re  _ more than _ fucking him!”    

How did she do that?  The stone cold mask Sansa had perfected never stopped Arya from seeing what was really going on.  Sansa refused to respond as she picked up her coat.  

Arya chuckled as she rolled her pistols up.  “Just don’t get knocked up, men like that don’t want ‘baby makes three’ and all that domestic shit.”    

“Good thing I don’t either.”  Sansa retorted.  Did she?  She had never thought about it before.  

Arya smiled and said, “Take care of yourself, sis.”  

“I always do.”  Sansa walked around the partition.  

Arya caught her and planted a big kiss on her cheek.  

Sansa pulled a disgusted face and started to wipe her cheek with her sleeve.  

“Aww quit your bitching, that hurt me a hell of a lot more than it did you.”  Arya rubbed her face, indicating all the bruises and contusions.  

They walked out together, and as Sansa watched Arya hop on her bike, she felt her phone buzz,  _ How soon can I see you? _

Now.  She wanted him right now.   


	3. Meeting in the Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At that he laughed, “Distracted enough to shoot out a window?”

Sansa stood at her front door staring at the detective’s badge, indicating that a Detective Melisandre was investigating the missing person's case for Sandor Clegane.  Sansa invited her inside.  The detective peered behind her dark squinting eyes, at the house’s decor.  Sansa brought her attention back by asking, “Is there any way I can help?”  

“Just share any information you may have about Mr. Clegane.  You were involved in an intimate relationship, were you not?”  Melisandre cut right to the heart of the matter as she continued to scope out her environment, much to Sansa’s discomfort.     

Sansa met her directness with her own, “For a time, yes.”  

“Are you saying that at the time he went missing, you were not together?”  She leaned in questioning.  

Sansa would not be phased, “I can’t accurately answer.  I do not know when he went missing, as we have not been together.”  

The detective cast her gaze away, taking a few steps in her living room, looking at the art she hung.  “When was the last time you were together?  Romantically or otherwise?” 

She knew to stay close to the truth to remain believable.  She remembered the lavender babydoll uniform she had donned the night they had plans to meet.  But that never happened, not in that way anyway.  She looked further back, the last time she was subjected to his company was at the Doghouse a couple days prior.  

He had tried touching her but her mind kept sneaking back to the limousine ride with Petyr and the night they held each other to sleep.  She recoiled from the Hound’s touch reflexively and they argued.  She stormed out quite publicly.  Later she had called him and arranged for him to come over to reconcile.  But he never made it, at the time she had no idea that Petyr had him bound and gagged waiting to die.  “The night I broke up with him.”  

“There was no attempt at reconciliation?  No begging to meet?  Or showing up at your door begging for another chance?”  She asked as she stopped circling the living room.

Sansa stiffened.  “We were at the Doghouse and he got on my last nerve.  I pried him off of me and screamed to leave me alone.  He tried calling and texting to reconcile but I think even he had enough good sense not to attempt to face me at that time.”  

“Are you aware that a few months ago, Sandor Clegane updated his will to include you?  And that you are entitled to everything upon his death?”  Detective Melisandre faced her directly.  

Sansa took a deep breath and rolled her eyes exaggeratedly.  “You said  _ missing _ , not dead.  Sandor is probably out on a bender, drowning his sorrows in slutty spring breakers now that he’s a free man.”  

Melisandre smirked back, “Were his extra curricular activities a contributing factor in your termination of the relationship?”  

Sansa realized the questions were geared for far more than a missing person’s case and she would need a lawyer to proceed.  She walked across the living room, and opened her front door for Melisandre, “Please leave my home.  I have no information to offer as I have not seen or heard from Sandor in weeks.  I truly hope you find him though, if for no other reason than to stop this interrogation.  I am happy to call my lawyer to facilitate if you would prefer.”  

After a long pause, the detective motioned for the door and said through her dubious grin, “No.  That will be all.  Thank you for your time.” 

Sansa closed the door and stood with her head resting on it for a moment.   _ A few months ago? _  It had only been a couple of weeks since he signed the bloodstained will.  Sansa wondered for a moment about the bloodstains.  How were wills processed anyway?  Surely someone would take pause at seeing the state of the document.  

Her phone buzzed,  _ Come over tonight? _

She sighed in pleasure at seeing the message from the contact:   _ ATM _ \--the pet name she gave Petyr after she tried to blow him off at the benefit gala so long ago now.  For the past couple of weeks, they had been spending more and more time together.  Petyr would meet her multiple times throughout the day, and then more days than not, their visits would extend into an overnight visit.  The past couple of nights however, they were unable to be together, and Sansa was feeling it.  

She missed the planes of his chest and strength in his arms as he held her close.  After spending entire days talking and sharing with one another, their nights were usually spent laying in bed together not saying anything, simply listening to each breath taken.  She had planned to invite him over to make up for lost time, though he beat her to the punch.  

She grabbed her car keys and typed her response,  _ I’m on my way.   _

Petyr stood in his doorway, waiting for her.  She smiled at his eagerness and admitted silently to herself that she felt the same.  She walked towards his open arms, sliding into his embrace.  She closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of his cologne.  Petyr’s lips found hers, melting her.  Waves of warmth washed down to her core.  

She returned his passion, sliding her hands up his ribs, breathing sounds of pleasure as she caught his bottom lip in her teeth gently.  Both of his hands slid down her back to the curve of her ass, gripping underneath before he lifted up.  She felt herself raise off of her feet an inch with his enthusiasm, held snug against the hardness in his pants.  

Reflexively, she squirmed against the bulge that massaged her sweet spot.  Petyr groaned at her movement and gently drove her back against the door frame, moving his hands to work her pants free.  She barely broke from his lips, and kept her eyes closed as their sudden separation sent residual shivers down her body.  After spending a couple of days apart, their rejoining was electric.  His groan was light but frustrated as he looked down at her.  

She found her composure, “I take it, you missed me.”  

Petyr’s gaze fell down to her chest, hard nipples poking out against the fabric of her shirt.  “As did you.”  

For a second, she considered denying it.  That would have been something she would do before--before she found herself smiling at text messages and sharing a bed with someone.  Now she was honest, “Yes.”  

He stroked the back of his finger over her cheek, “Then let’s return to each other properly.”  He snickered and leaned down to kiss her again.  

She smiled into his mouth, but held her ground.  “We are in a doorway.  Everyone can see us.”  

“Let them.  I do not care about them.”  He tugged gently at her shirt, kissing her jaw, “I care about you.”  

“Then stop.”  Her voice was firm and effective.  It was hard for her push him away as she was filled with want just as much as he was.  But Detective Melisandre was a more pressing issue that warranted discussion.     

He stopped immediately, hands freezing, face slowly backing away from hers.  “What’s wrong?”  

She stepped past him, into the house and walked straight for the couch in front of the fire.  “It’s nothing serious.”  

“Tell me.”  He sat beside her, not touching her, allowing her space to speak.  

She rolled her eyes, annoyed at how built up this was becoming.  She turned to face him, for the first time noticing the respectful distance he offered her.  She wanted none of that.  She reached over and held his hand.  “The police stopped by my place today asking questions.”  

Petyr’s tone was soft and comforting, “That’s to be expected.”  

She nodded, “I know that.”  

His head tilted as he asked, “Then what is wrong?”  

“All the things I don’t know.”  Sansa held his gaze.  

Petyr rubbed his thumbs over her fingers as his eyes stared down.  She could feel him thinking, considering what to tell her and what not to.  His gaze returned to hers and as he opened his mouth to respond, she spoke over him, “If you have to think about what to say to me, it’s probably a lie.”  

Petyr broke out into a large grin that pinched the sides of his eyes, “Typically yes.  You would be right about that.  Except for one thing.”  

Sansa stared back at him, waiting.  

“From the moment I first saw you, I haven’t lied to you.  Not once.”  His face was warm with sincerity.  

She thought about it for a second and realized that he was right.  To her knowledge anyway, he had not ever lied to her.  There were things he didn’t tell her, like meeting with Arya, but there were also things she didn’t tell him, like meeting with Arya.  Everyone was entitled to some privacy, some secrets.  As far as she could tell, he hadn’t lied to her, and he wasn’t keeping any secrets she would need to know.  Though Shae might find out more.

Sansa leaned in, placing a hand on his thigh, as her lips found his again.  She did not scoot any closer to him, did not allow their bodies to touch as she knew it would be too distracting, but she gave him her lips for his honesty.  He smiled back into her kiss, “What is it you would like to know?”  

Sansa rested her forehead against his and smiled in return, “The details.  What’s next.  The will.  The investigation.”  

She pulled her head back a little, hovering, as she searched his face for a response.  He lifted their hands and answered.  “Once the Hound’s death is confirmed the inheritance will be granted.  The investigation has the potential to increase in intensity when it changes from missing person to  _ homicide _ .”  

Excited at the prospect of escaping murder charges, she asked, “How will we get away with it?”  

Petyr smiled, resting his arm on the back of the couch as he turned to her, “We already have.  They don’t even know it’s been done yet.”  

“I got the feeling that they did.”  Sansa recalled the detective pacing in her living room with her smug smirk, asking too many questions.  

Petyr frowned at her statement, “Did you get the name of the detective who visited you?”   

“Melisandre.”  Sansa was not likely to forget.  The woman gave her the creeps.  

He rubbed his goatee and thought for a moment before saying, “I’ll handle the investigation.”  

“Do you know her?”  The question just jumped out of her, without warning.  

He nodded slowly and said, “She’s always enjoyed getting paid before, I’m sure she can be swayed to direct her attention elsewhere in her investigation.”  

Sansa thought about bribery for a moment.  She had plenty of money to grease Melisandre’s palms with.  She would have even more once she was granted her inheritance from the Hound.  This was provided that a will that was dated months ago and splattered with blood wouldn’t be considered inadmissible.  There was no way that anyone would accept that document.  She would not have the upper side of the city, based on a flimsy document covered in blood.  Particularly his blood.  “I do not think that the will is going to be honored.”

“And why is that?”  Petyr stood up.  Seeing him rise prompted her to join him.    

As Sansa felt his arm around her waist guide her towards the kitchen, she stated the obvious, “Because it was dated only a couple of months before his death.  That’s suspicious.  And then there’s the matter of it’s  _ covered in blood. _ ”  

Petyr chuckled and kissed her cheek, “In our line of work, Lawyers are used to seeing things covered in blood.  It doesn’t invalidate the document any.”  

Sansa watched him walk over to his fridge and pull some containers out.  “It’s his blood though.  Isn’t that pretty suspicious?”  

Petyr stood at the center island where all the gas burners were and poured some oil in a frying pan.  He started chopping vegetables and dropping them in slowly, “It would be if anybody saw it that way.  Thankfully, Varys cleaned it up.”  

“Cleaned it up?”  Sansa reached over and grabbed a carrot.   

He smiled as he pointed to a container, “There’s more over here.”  He walked over to the fridge to pull out some chicken, “Varys cleaned the blood off of the document.  Then he copied it, lightening it so that there was no dark splotches on it, and then he placed it in Clegane’s family lawyer’s office, under a stack of papers, to look as though it’s been there for months.”  

Sansa’s jaw dropped and then smiled, “You are good.”  

“I’m actually quite bad.”  He smirked back up at her as he tended to his cooking.  

She stood up walked around him, slipping her arms under his to enclose his waist.  She kissed his shoulder blade and rested her head there for a moment.  She heard him say, “Mmm, I like this.”  

The oil in the pan spit a little and she chuckled against his back, “Don’t get so distracted that you burn yourself.”  

At that he laughed, “Distracted enough to shoot out a window?”  

She felt herself blush and was glad he couldn’t see it.  “You were doing a lot more than hugging me.”  

“Yes, why aren’t we doing more of that?”  He asked playfully.  

She pulled away carefully and walked over to his cupboards, “Because you are cooking me dinner.  Now, where are your plates?”  

They had nearly finished eating when Sansa considered the date on the will and asked, “So why was the will only dated a few months back?  Why not longer?”  

“You only started dealing with him a few months back, how could he will something to someone he didn’t know?”  Petyr grabbed one last forkful.  

Obviously.  Why hadn’t she thought of that?  She must have been too distracted by Melisandre’s home inspection and then again by Petyr’s -- everything.  “Once they find him, they will suspect me.  Would they contest the will?”  

“Let me handle the will.”  Petyr said simply as he stood up, reaching for her empty plate.

She watched him take her plate, cleaning up after her, and she felt herself set with resolve.  “No.”

“No?”  He smiled from the sink.  

“If I want to retake my place in this city, I need to handle things myself.”  She meant it.  She couldn’t hide behind a man to solve everything for her.  And truth be told, she wanted to learn.  She knew she could handle it, she just hadn’t figured out how yet.

“But you don’t have to.  Didn’t you learn that, when we put our obstacle in the ground?  Let me help you.”  He turned, leaning back on the counter, arms folded across his chest.

She sighed and walked towards him, clasping her hand over his forearm, pulling him open to her.  “I just want to handle the things that I can.  I don’t want you stepping in when I’m capable.  There is a difference between helping and doing everything.”

He reached down, holding both of her hands.  “And I want to support you in any way that I can.”  He brought their linked hands up and rested them on his chest as he brought her closer to him.  “Can we meet half-way?”

Sansa looked into his eyes, dilated amorously, and decided to hear him out.  “I’m listening.” 

She felt his triumphant grin engulf her as he proposed, “You handle the will.  Let me handle the police.”

She paused.  She did not like the sound of any plan that involved someone else managing her affairs.  “Both are my business though.”  

“Not technically.  I was going to kill Clegane regardless, eventually.  So really this investigation is something I would be managing anyway.”  He reasoned.  

She let go of their hands and sighed, “But you did it now, because of me.”  

“No.   _ You _ did it.   _ I  _ sat on the sidelines and enjoyed it.”  

She smiled at the memory of killing Clegane with Petyr wrapped around her, along for the ride, keeping her on the rails.  

He continued, “It’s not that you aren’t capable of handling an investigation.  It’s just that I’m better connected than you are.   You have been working to get back into the life, but I’m already in it.  I’ve been doing this a lot longer.”

Sansa had not noticed she was backing up towards the bedroom at first.  It was subconscious.  She was lost in thought, considering what he had to say seriously.  He truly was better connected than her.  And he was willing to flex and compromise.  She found excitement bubbling inside of her as she recognized how substantial his feelings for her were, for him to have such consideration.  And instantly she wanted to play with him-- _ Littlefinger.   _ The man with the connections, meeting her half-way. __ She smiled wide and responded, “Alright.  I will compromise.  On this.”  

She turned her gaze to the counter where she left her purse.  “But there is something that I will not compromise on.”  

Petyr cocked his eyebrow at her, in curiosity. 

“I will tell you.  But first there’s something I need from you.”  She walked across the room and picked up her purse.  

His eyes tracked her movement and his face fell when he saw her pick up her bag.  He must have thought she was going to leave.  On the contrary, she was intent on coming.  She walked up to him, slid her palm up his chest and captured his chin in her grasp.  “I need you to go to the bedroom, and strip completely naked.”  

His eyebrows shot up as his eyes grew wide.  Slowly he cracked a smile that pointed to his dimples.  He said nothing, only started pulling his shirt off as he walked to the bedroom.  

Sansa followed behind carrying her purse.  As Petyr undressed, he kept a steady gaze at her fully clothed, with her purse.  She took pleasure at how his mind must be wandering.  “Lay down.”  

Sansa walked over to the side of the bed and set her purse down.  Petyr looked at it and she held up her finger, “Uh, uh-ah!  No peeking.”  

He laid on his side turned towards her, curiosity so strong on his face, she thought it may get stuck that way.  Slowly, she slid her pants off and stood in her underwear and shirt.  She smiled down at him and asked, “Do you want to touch me?”  

“Yes.”  He nodded.  

She pulled her shirt over her head leaving her standing in just her bra and panties.  “What if you couldn’t?”  

He looked back, irritation flashing across his face briefly, “Why not?”  

“What if I said no?”  she unclasped her bra and let the fabric peel away from her breasts.

“Why would you?” he asked, starting to sit up a little.  

“I said  _ lay down _ .  Hold the frame, with both of your hands.”  Sansa pointed to the spindles on the headboard behind him.  

Petyr looked back at the headboard and then at her.  “What are you up to?”  

She slid her underwear off, completely exposing herself.  And then she pulled a pair of handcuffs out of her bag and held them up.  “I am not compromising on this.”  

Petyr stared ahead, shocked.  Sansa laughed inside at his struggle.  She knew that Petyr did not come as far as he had by letting cute redheads cuff him to headboards in kinky sex games.  She knew he could never allow himself to be in a position so vulnerable.  He could never trust that the piece of ass with furry cuffs wasn’t working for the other guy.  

But Sansa wasn’t just some piece of ass, and her cuffs weren’t furry.  She served no one but herself...and maybe him if he kept making it worth her while.  This was not a trust exercise.  Trust was not for people like them.  This was an exercise in  _ risk. _  What would he risk to have her?  Would he risk being vulnerable?  

As he thought, she crawled on the bed and straddled him.  “You did say that I was the only person that you’d let handcuff you…”  

Petyr slid his hands up her thighs to her hips as he asked, “Kiss me?”  

Sansa leaned down, allowing her hair to fall to either side around their faces.  She brought her mouth to his and massaged his lips.  She accepted his tongue as it licked her lips and glided into her mouth.  His hands moved from her hips up her side, cupping her breasts.  She moaned into his mouth and he smiled in return.  But she was not compromising.  She rocked her hips forward, making him moan as she rubbed her wetness over his hardness.  

Sansa detached one of his hands from her breasts and brought it up to the headboard.  She pulled his other hand away bringing it up to the headboard as well, and deepened her kiss.  Both of their arms outstretched towards the railings, chests smooshed together, mouths devouring each other.  Her nub rubbed against his rock-hard dick, and she couldn’t stop grinding into it in response.  He sighed in pleasure at the pressure she applied to him.  She pulled her mouth away from his and let go of his arms, reaching for the handcuffs.

His eyes opened, staring back into hers.  She smiled and said, “You’re always in charge, handling everything, helping so much.  Let go.  Let me--”  She looked down between their bodies, “-- _ handle _ , something.”  

She clicked one cuff on one hand and he remained silent staring at her.  She threaded the cuffs through the rung, “Take a break.  Give me the reins.”  

He did not respond, only looked at her as he heard the last cuff lock into place.  Slowly, he exhaled and she pushed her forehead to his as she grinned, “Good boy.”  

They laid still like that for a moment, allowing the situation to sink in.  And then Sansa pulled her forehead away and kissed his lips.  He returned the kiss, and she heard the cuffs jingle as he reflexively attempted to touch her.  She smiled and broke from him to trail kisses on his jaw and to his ear.  “Is it hard not to touch me?”  

He nodded, his breathing audible.  

“I can’t hear you.”  She brought one hand up and gripped his hair.  

“Yes.”  He groaned.  

Hearing his desperate voice tickled something machiavellian inside her.  She rubbed herself on him further and whispered, “Do you want little Sansa Stark to fuck big bad Littlefinger?”  

He arched up towards her and the sound of metal scraping wood resonated as his hands fought for freedom.  Sansa laughed next to his ear before sucking it.  She felt his body stiffen under hers and she slid down further to trail kisses down his chest.  She let her tongue trace the dips of each muscle.  As she traced around his belly button, she looked to see him staring down at her with a pained expression on his face.  She grinned and picked up her tongue, “If there is something you would like, you’re going to have to tell me.  I may or may not allow it.”  

He exhaled and said, “I want to touch you.”  

“Too bad.”  She smiled and started tracing the V of his pelvis.  “I’m touching you.”  

His head craned up watching her work her tongue closer to his throbbing shaft.  She brought her hand around him, and enjoyed the solid column tightening under her grasp.  “Should I suck your cock?”  

“Yes.”  He gasped.  

She rubbed him a few times, prolonging his wait.  And then she slowly dropped down, tongue first flicking the tip, cleaning the pearly white bead off.  Sansa smiled as she traced her tongue around the rim of his head.  

She kept her eyes on him as she took him in as far as her mouth would allow.  She sucked and licked, pushing and pulling away from him.  He moaned and arched, flexing his legs under her.  She heard the jangling of the cuffs as he tried futilely to be more  _ hands on. _

After a few minutes, she heard him panting and uttering one syllable words.  “Yes.  Gah.  Fuck.” __ To her surprise, she heard him say in a shaky voice, “I want to taste you.”  

She picked her head up, “And I want to keep sucking you.”  

His teeth clenched together at the frustration he felt under her ministrations.  He was firmer, “Let me lick your clit.”  

And she felt a bolt of excitement.  She didn’t know if it was more because he was talking naughty to her or if it was because he was trapped, having to ask.  “If I rub my pussy on your face, will you come in my mouth?”  

“Do you want me to?”  His cock stood beat red and twitching in the open air.  

Sansa scooted up and reversed directions as she straddled his chest.  “Yes.  I want to come as I swallow you.”

As she scooted her bottom back, she felt his goatee rub against her.  She almost jumped in surprise as she felt him nip at her cheeks.  She started laughing and lifted her pelvis to allow his tongue to find her cleft.  

She wrapped her lips around his cock again and sucked as she felt his warm wet tongue slide up the length of her to find her nub.  She groaned with a mouth full of him as she felt him circle her.  She tried not to buck at the attention he showered her with.  She didn’t want to hurt him, defenseless under her, but she also couldn’t contain the warm sensation that radiated out from her core in little bursts.  

She twisted her head allowing her lips to swirl his dick as his tongue stirred her.  He moaned into her and it made her tingle more.  She felt herself tighten in the open air as his tongue massaged between her lips.  He breathed out as he licked her and she pushed herself down on his chin gently in response to the moist heat that poured over her womanhood.

She hadn’t meant to grind into his face, but she could feel herself build up to burst.  His body was rigid underneath her belly and she knew he was close too.  She started sucking harder to help him and his licks got faster, and sloppier.  

She found herself slowly dipping over the edge, and then she was caught in the undertow, spiraling out of control.  As she contracted in front of his eyes, she felt either side of his dick start to pulse too.  She hooked his head deep enough back in her mouth so that she could swallow him whole without spilling him.  Both of them panted, completely spent at the end of each other’s tongues.  

Sansa stood up off of him on wobbly legs and grabbed a towel out of the bathroom.  She climbed up on the bed on her knees and wiped his face, then down between their legs.  Naked she reached for her purse and pulled the key out.  

Petyr laid there, still tame from their activities, watching her.  She leaned up over him to unlock the cuff and he nipped at the breast that hung above his head as she worked the lock.  She giggled and he laughed too.  When the cuffs opened and freed him, his hands came flying out, clamping around her, holding her to him.  They lay naked wrapped around each other, not saying a word until they fell asleep that way.  

The next morning Sansa snuck out of bed to use the bathroom.  She noticed his shower had four different heads in it and a seat to one side.  She smiled thinking of the perks to dating Petyr.  She poked her head back in the bedroom to check on him.  He remained in bed unmoving.  Sansa closed the door so that the sound of water wouldn’t wake him up and then she got in the shower.  

Sansa had stayed the night before, but she had not stayed the morning.  She had never taken a shower at his place and therefore had not brought any soap.  She read his manly soap labels and scrunched her nose at the idea of smelling like a man all day.  She sighed, figuring just being in the warm water would be calming enough, and perhaps the water alone would cleanse her to some degree at least.  

She closed her eyes and dipped her head further under one of the shower heads.  She relaxed in the warmth that poured over her.  A slight breeze skimmed past her calves and she smiled at the cool touch contrasting the warmth the enveloped her.  At the feel of a cold liquid pour on the top of her head, her eyes snapped open and she craned her head around, finding Petyr standing behind her smiling.  

“Turn back around,” he laughed.  His hand came up and he rubbed at the soap he put in her hair.  

She rolled her eyes and exclaimed in frustration, “Great, now I’m going to smell like a man.”  

“You better not.”  He said in mock jealousy as he massaged her scalp.  

Her arms crossed and her body closed to him, displaying just how unimpressed she was.  He chuckled as he kissed her shoulder, “Relax.  It’s you’re shampoo.”  

“What?”  She turned her head back over her shoulder, and sniffed the air to confirm that it was in fact her soap.  

He nodded, “When I was at your place, I snooped your brands so that I could keep stuff here for you.”  

She felt her heart grow bigger than her chest at the knowledge that he cared enough to do some reconnaissance work to make her more comfortable.  “Thank you.”  

He worked the soap down her hair, from scalp to tip, smiling as he listened to Sansa say, “I can do this myself, you know.”  

Soap suds slid down her back and over her butt.  Petyr stepped forward and pressed his erection between her cheeks, using the soap suds to massage himself against her.  “It’s not a bad thing to let someone care for you.”

Sansa laughed, “I don’t need a caretaker.”  

Petyr worked the soap around her belly, building up more suds as he spoke over her shoulder, “I knew from the start, that you are strong and independent.”  His soapy hands came up, cupping and washing her breasts.  Reflexively, she backed further into him and moaned in pleasure.  

He gripped both breasts firmly, holding them as he slid himself against her backside.  “You’re not going to scream at the sight of blood, or flinch when bullets fly.”  

He moved her back into a shower head, and came around to the front of her, rinsing himself off before pressing against her.  He tipped her head back into the water to rinse her hair, “You won’t swoon over the money or cower away when you realize how it was made.”

Sansa listened, allowing herself to be lead by his warm touch.  The soap rinsed from their bodies he lead her back against the wall next to the seat and continued, “And I cherish you for that.”  He traced his hand down her body to between her legs, “Let me cherish you.”  

Sansa leaned back against the wall, a welcome coolness to contrast the steam surrounding her and the fire within.  His fingers massaged her and slid into her, as she mewled to his touch.  

He reached his other hand down and pulled at her thigh, lifting her leg up and setting it on the built in shower bench.  “We are so much stronger when we work together.”  

Sansa stood completely open to him, unraveling at his fingertips.  He grasped himself with his other hand and rubbed against her.  She looked down and watched him tease her with his tip.  

His voice thick and heady, “We just need to meet--”  He slowly pushed into her and they both inhaled as he filled her.  He placed his lips against hers as he breathed, “in the middle.”  

Sansa moaned and clenched around him.  He groaned at the feel of her insides hugging him.  He kept her pinned against the shower wall, as he slid in and out of her, slowly massage her insides.  Sansa felt the wall was the only thing holding her up, as after a while she didn’t trust her wobbly legs anymore.  Her orgasm turned her to jello and folded into him.  They hugged each other as he shuddered into her.

When they pulled apart and rinsed off, Petyr grabbed a towel for her.  Sansa stood looking exhausted and satiated.  Petyr grinned and said, “You didn’t think I’d let you leave without being inside you first, did you?”    

Sansa giggled and swatted at him.  After the night before, she knew he’d  _ let _ her do anything she damn well wanted.  

He kissed her cheek and said, “Come on.  The coffee is brewing and the newspaper is on the table.”  He closed the door to the bathroom behind him.  

Sansa toweled dry and then stepped back into the bedroom.  She was going to look for her clothes when she saw a periwinkle colored silk robe laying out on the bed for her, and she smiled so hard her dimples hurt.  


	4. Mares and Mules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even with the music blaring and the announcer bellowing, Petyr could hear her tone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major thanks to Faradaze for putting up with me whining through a short bout of writers block! Anyone would be lucky to have her editing their work -- I count my lucky stars often.
> 
> Tomorrow marks my one month anniversary of having an account on AO3, and trying my hand at this whole writing thing!!! Thank you all for being amazing readers and editors and following the ups and downs of this AU :-)

The music was loud and aggressive, the announcer’s voice boomed as he read out the names of the fighters.  The lights moved around the stadium, and settled on the metal frame that surrounded the ring.  Sansa could feel the sound vibrate through the room, and travel up the legs of her seat, massaging her bottom.

Petyr sat beside her and spoke into her ear, preparing her for the sport.  She smiled as she felt his breath, hot against her neck.  She closed her eyes for a moment and regained her composure.  She told herself, _not now._  They were out together and while a Mixed Martial Arts fight was not her idea of a great date, this was where he brought her.  She would not allow herself to lose her attention to the feel of him against her skin, at least not until after.  She opened her eyes again and nodded, showing him that she understood his teachings.   

Everyone had bulging muscles and deep voices.  Tribal tattoos swirled around their arms and traveled up their necks.  Some men had words inked on their chests indicating their level of expertise and willingness to murder.  Her personal favorite was, _Garroter_.  

“He goes by that because of his holds.  He’s almost strangled some opponents with his legs in an iron-lock until they become unresponsive.”  Petyr spoke into her ear.

Sansa nodded back at him, realizing how he’d noticed her checking Mr. Garroter out.  She cast her gaze down to her shoes for a moment, feeling caught.  And then considered how closely he watched her to see the object of her attention and smiled at how she held his interest.  She decided to push him a little further.  She turned towards Petyr, arching towards him, to allow him a view of her generous cleavage.  “It must take a lot of strength to do that.”  

Petyr stared at her chest as he spoke evenly, “Fighters are very disciplined, yes.  Their career ends so quickly and they are often left with nothing.  It’s important that they make the most of their time in the limelight while they have it.”  

She felt an excited jump in her belly listening to him put fighters down.  The scent of jealousy on him had never smelled sweeter to her.  She crossed her legs so that she could give herself some pressure.  Sansa encouraged the feeling by continuing to gaze at all the hot bodies that passed her by.  Biting her cheek to stop from laughing, she felt Petyr’s hand slide possessively into her lap, gripping her top thigh.  She looked over at him and he smiled back flirtatiously, trying to appear playful rather than jealous.  Petyr still had a lot to learn about Sansa.  

“I didn’t know you were interested in fighting--MMA.”  Sansa changed the subject.  

“It’s business.”  Petyr responded as he scanned the crowd.  

“You’re taking me out for _business?_ ”  She felt indignation flare inside of her.  She was not a trophy wife -- eye candy to hang off an arm, while the men talked grown-up talk.  

Even with the music blaring and the announcer bellowing, Petyr could hear her tone.  His head turned quickly to her and he soothed, “You said you wanted back in the life.  I wanted to bring you along to see.”  

She kept her jaw from dropping as she realized how much he was incorporating her in things he absolutely did not have to.  She would have felt bad about making him jealous mere seconds before, but it was just too sexy to resist.

“Thank you.”  She mouthed to him.  He gave her thigh a squeeze as he returned her smile.  

Her chest swelled with importance as she focused on their purpose for being there.  “So, what exactly is our business?”  

Careful not to be heard, Petyr spoke.  “When you are importing goods, it’s important to arrange for distribution.”  

Sansa knew he was being coded to avoid any sort of liability but she didn’t know what he meant.  At White Harbor he showed her both drugs and guns.  She guessed that it didn’t matter which, the message was clear enough.  The Sons of the Harpy would be delivering his goods and he would be arranging for someone to deliver them.

“Distribution _and_ sales?  Or just delivery to sales floors?”  Sansa took her cue from him and coded her words as well.   

Petyr smiled at her, and she knew he was evaluating her to be a quick-study.  “Always start with just delivery of product.  As time goes on, if you are satisfied with the service you can always branch into more.”  

“That is very good advice.  It is good to be cautious.”  A deep voice sounded over their heads.  

Sansa looked up and saw a giant of a man standing at their table in a tight white tank top and dress pants with a chain.  His dark hair was long and tied back, his beard was grown out and tied at various points down the length of it.  His style was unlike anything Sansa had seen, as she had typically been surrounded by clean shaven men with cropped hair.  He had a deep scar that cut through his left eye. 

The goliath extended his hand to Sansa and she shook it, awestruck by the gentleness he showed despite his size.  “Kahl Drogo.”  

“Sansa Stark.”  She responded, her eyes fixated on the slash-mark tattoos that crept out of the sides of his white cotton tank top.  

“Baelish.”  Mr. Drogo nodded his head.  

“I should have known I’d see you here.”  Petyr smiled and clasped hands with Drogo.  She couldn’t help noticing how not surprised he appeared.   

“What can I say?  I live for MMA!”  Khal exclaimed.  

Petyr laughed and pointed to the chair opposite them.  “Join us?”  

Drogo looked over and shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, why not?”  

He plopped down and motioned to someone out of view to come over.  

Petyr enquired, “How’s the missus?”  

An exasperated sigh was heard in between the announcer's words.  A short platinum blonde girl with a very pregnant belly waddled over towards them saying, “Fat, sore, and ready to pop.”

Drogo opened his legs to let her come stand into him.  Standing, she was only slightly taller than he was sitting.  His hand was the side of the belly he rubbed protectively.  She scooted onto his lap and leaned into him as he held her bump.  “I’m Danny, you must be Baelish’s girlfriend?”  

 _Girlfriend?_  Was that what she was?  Probably.  They were exclusive to each other--thank you Shae for confirming this.  They spent almost every night together.  And they were not married.  On paper, girlfriend seemed to be the right label.  But somehow it just didn’t feel right to her.  It felt, deficient.  “I’m Sansa.”

She wondered if she were being transparent in her discomfort over the title because Petyr took his hand away from her and his eyes did not hold the same warmth they had moments before.  

Petyr spoke, his voice serious, “Khal and I know each other for our mutual appreciation of horses.  He owns a horse ranch.”  

Horse ranch?  This tattoo-covered guy dressed like a gangster had a _horse ranch_ \--where?  The nearest countryside was hundreds of miles outside of the city.  “How nice.”  

Danny laughed, “Have you ever been to a horse ranch?”  

“I can’t say that I have.”  Sansa tipped her head in curiosity.    

Danny leaned forward and said, “You can smell the shit a mile away.”  

Drogo roared in laughter as he clutched at her and tickled her side.  Sansa looked over at Petyr who smiled back at her.  His hand had been resting on the back of her chair and he picked up his thumb to secretly rub her shoulder.  She smiled at his touch, however discreet it was.

Petyr spoke, “I heard there are other troubles on a horse ranch.”  

“Mules.”  Drogo turned to look directly at Petyr.

Danny spoke to Sansa, “Mules are born from a male donkey and a female horse.  Cross breeding is such a trouble.  And yet it happens all the time.”

Drogo spoke to Petyr, “We have so many of them.”  

“How many?”  Petyr’s tone was serious and he had stopped rubbing her shoulder, retracting his arm.  

Sansa was starting to feel as though they were not talking about actual horses or mules, not truly.  She tried to follow the conversation.  

“Right now?  Probably about fifteen.  They constantly get out and wander.  They can go very far.”  Drogo’s voice deep and he gaze intense.  “I wonder if I might be able to train them to be pack mules.”  

Petyr waved his hand.  “I wouldn’t invest the time in training them yet.”  

Drogo kissed his wife’s shoulder and nudged her up.  As he stood, he looked at Petyr, “Let’s get our women something to drink.”  

“Seltzer with pineapple.”  Danny ran her hand over Drogo’s chest and looked up at him.  

“Pineapple?”  He smiled down.  “This child is strange.  Are you sure he’s mine?”  

She reached up and pinched his nipple through his shirt as she smiled.  “He’s as fierce as you are.  He’s going to kick his way out!”  

Sansa watched them, in a trance.  Was this what love and marriage was all about?  She felt twinges of pain in her heart as she remembered seeing her parents in similar interchanges.  They had that.  

Drogo rubbed his hand over her belly again as he reached down and kissed the top of her head.  Sansa looked at Petyr, who was standing now to follow Drogo.  Petyr returned her gaze and offered her a reassuring smile.  

As the men left, Sansa realized awkwardly that she was left with Drogo’s wife.  They looked at each other from across the table for a moment in silence, unsure of what to say or how to initiate.  Sansa knew that there was more to the conversation than what was being said, and she had a strong feeling that Danny knew that too, if she didn’t actually know what the conversation was.  

Danny held her hand over her belly and smiled in a way that only mothers can, “I’ve never seen Baelish bring a woman here before.”  

Sansa didn’t understand the purpose of that statement.  She smiled as she attempted to be glib, “Well you just did.”  

“So I did.”  Danny’s hand started rubbing.  

Sansa felt obligated to charm.  Petyr had left her here, and she was going to make the most of it.  “How long have you and Kahl been together?”  

Danny’s eye lashes fluttered, “Long enough to know each other’s ins and outs.  Your relationship is new though, isn’t it?”  

Sansa wasn’t sure if she liked where this was going.  “It’s fresh, yes.”  

After a brief pause, Danny observed with a laugh, “He’s a lot older than us, isn’t he?  I mean he’s not ancient, but he’s already going grey”  

Sansa bristled.  

“What is that like?”  Danny asked.  

Sansa blinked, annoyed, not sure what she meant by asking that, “Like any other relationship.”    

Danny pushed on, “I’ve never had a man _that_ seasoned, but I imagine the experience would be-- _perfected_.”  

Sansa didn’t appreciate what she was getting at.  She knew that Petyr wasn’t exactly a virgin, and she would not allow herself to be made jealous by meaningless experiences that came before her.  She wanted to put this woman in her place, but then she reminded herself that she couldn’t make waves while Petyr was doing business with these people.   “It’s practice that perfects, and we practice _often._ ”

Danny’s belly bounced up and down with her laughter.  “I bet you do!”  

Sansa saw her calm down as she glanced towards the men standing at the bar.  Other people passing by obstructed their view from time to time.   

“Our men are over there under the pretense of keeping their conversation private, but we both know that tonight when they wedge between our legs, they will share all their secrets.”  Danny spoke smugly.   

Sansa felt as if Danny was betraying Drogo by explaining their intimacy.  Had she no loyalty to her husband?  Sansa tried not to let the disgust show on her face as she asked, “Why would you tell me that?”  

Danny looked at her and said, “Seeing you with Littlefinger, I can tell you’re going to be around for a while.  Best we be on the same page about just how involved we are with our husbands affairs.”  

Sansa wanted to scream at this woman’s audacity.  Yet the smallest sliver of herself was a little pleased.  It felt good when she heard _you’re going to be around for a while._  It was obvious to someone upon first meeting just how much Petyr adored her.  It made her want to protect what they had all the more; she would not be spilling secrets to their relationship.  

Sansa’s jaw tightened as she considered the truth to Danny’s words.  They may be working together for a long time to come.  She knew that this moment was integral to how that relationship would work.  Danny was smart and bold, and despite her bronzed skin and bleached hair, she was no more a trophy wife to Drogo than Sansa was window dressing to Petyr.  Her husband was going to be working for Petyr, he was an _employee._

Sansa would not allow herself to be pushed around by hired help.  She wasn’t married to Petyr, and this wasn’t her territory.  She was purely along for the show, to learn.  She did not have a vested interest in this deal, but she did in Petyr.  She knew that she would not back down to this Danny woman, and she also knew that she had to do more than just stand her ground.  She had to dominate. She accessed a deeper darker part of herself, where everyone was expendable, the part that did not value anything but victory.  

Sansa brought her gaze down to Danny’s belly, and held it there as she said, “It’s such a good thing, us girls are getting on so well.  Understanding each other, and all.  Because you have so much to lose if we didn’t.”

Danny’s eyes grew wide and her nostrils flared.  She was about to reply when Kahl and Petyr returned with drinks, talking as they walked.  Sansa heard Drogo say, “Disappearing is how men in this line of work go.”  

Sansa knew that Petyr would not say anything incriminating, and smiled when she watched him merely nod.  He caught her eye and his head cocked as he scanned her over.  She knew he could tell that she was not as he left her.  She hoped he would not ask her later.  She could handle herself in these situations and didn’t want to feel the need to explain herself to anyone--even him.    

Sansa was not as obvious as Danny.  Kahl placed the drink on the table and picked her up out of her chair like she was weightless.  He searched her face and asked, “What’s wrong?”  

Danny looked straight ahead at Sansa and plastered on a fake smile.  “Nothing.  I’m just feeling a little sick.”  

He sat in the chair and placed her in his lap, protectively wrapping his arms around her.  “Will the bubbles in your drink help?”  

Danny kept her smile on and held his forearm around her belly, “I think I just need to lay down.”  

Drogo looked up at Petyr and Sansa and apologized.  “Morning sickness, they don’t tell you that it can last throughout the whole pregnancy.  I’ll be getting rid of all those mules on Friday, where I usually ditch them.  I’m gonna get her home to bed, enjoy the show.”  

As they stood up, Drogo’s hand never left Danny’s belly and Sansa couldn’t help but consider what she had just done.  Killing the Hound was one thing.  She had no qualms about killing her enemies, and could even justify some casualties of war.  But she wasn’t fond of threatening an unborn child.  

Memories of her parents bringing her younger brothers home flooded her.  She was only four when they brought Brandon home so she did not remember much, just dark wisps of hair shaking as he howled in his crib.  But she was eight when they brought little Rickon home.  She remembered the way he smelled, so soft and clean, and delicate. Now he was so much older, so much stronger, and smarter.  And yet he was still developing and vulnerable.  She felt disgust with herself for threatening a child, but she would flex her strength and make her presences known in this world.  She would break anyone she was pitted against, and she would keep herself and her own safe.  

Lost in her own thought, she didn’t notice Petyr wrap his arm around her shoulders until he spoke into her ear.  “Why do I get the feeling that you weren’t talking about baby names?”  

“Do I look like the type of woman who discusses baby names?”  Sansa’s voice was harder than she had meant it to be.  

Petyr looked her in the eye and said, “Let's go home.”

“To whose?”  She asked, her voice softer.  

He stood up and took her arm.  “I don’t care.”  

They walked in silence until they reached the exit.  Sansa felt obligated to apologize.  “I am sorry for how quickly they left.  I know you were trying to conduct business.”  

“My business was concluded before we left the table.  Drogo and I met separately to smooth out the details.”  Petyr assured her.  

“You’re awfully calm about this.”  She gave him a sidelong glance.  

He chuckled softly, “Sansa, tonight I got to see you intimidate a pregnant woman.  You are ruthless and it’s delightful to watch.”  


	5. Handling Affairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Power and strength saturated her as she felt a growing need to exert herself in other ways.

“I  _ am _ taking care of them.  I’ve  _ always _ taken care of them.”  Sansa’s jaw tightened and her lips pursed as she spoke into her phone. 

Jon sat beside her in the car and pretended not to eavesdrop on the conversation that, in the close quarters of her Mercedes, she knew he had no choice but to hear.  She would have been more self-conscious about it if it had been anyone but Jon.  Over the years, he had gotten a front row seat to the Stark skirmishes.    

“If that were true, then why haven’t you sent in any of the paperwork for Rickon’s scholarship?”  Robb’s voice questioned through the phone.  

Sansa’s older brother Robb occasionally remembered that he was older and therefore attempted to sound as if he knew best.  “He’s been accepted to  _ M.I.T. _ ”  

“He’s twelve.”  Sansa spat back, putting the car into park with a jerk.  She could tell the motion was a bit rough when she noticed Jon’s curly mop bob forward out of the corner of her eye.    

“ _ And _ already accepted to M.I.T.”  The weight of his words sank into her.  It was a big deal and any attempt at minimizing it was futile.  She knew that.  She also knew that she didn’t like Robb calling her from Uganda to tell her how to parent their younger siblings.  

“And that is great.”  She sighed.  “He also doesn’t need a scholarship to go.”  

“That’s not the point Sansa.  It’s a huge honor to be awarded this.”  Robb’s voice pressed.  

Sansa got out of the car and stood with her arm resting on the top of the door as she looked at the sign for The Mockingbird above the doorway.  “I understand that.  And I will take care of things.”  Jon had gotten out as well and was looking at her over the roof of the car.  “Like I always do.”    

“Bran said you brought a man to his school, and said you were  _ married _ ?  What’s going on Sansa?”  He prodded at her and she felt sideswiped by the topic change.  

Anger inflamed her as she slammed the car door, saying, “Life, Robb.  I am handling it.”  

Jon’s eyebrows raised as he gently shut his door.  She knew he had no choice but to hear their conversation, he might as well become invested.  She tried to rein in her emotions and get back some composure.  

And then Robb questioned her, “Are you sure you aren’t distracted?” 

Rage sored through her as she stood by her car.  Suddenly, she didn’t care who heard her.  Jon didn’t exist to her in that moment.  Her hand gripped the phone so tight she was sure it would break. “Distracted?!  Yes, I’m so  _ distracted _ that I’ve decided to retain guardianship of the boys, and am handling our family’s businesses.  I’m so distracted that I decided to stay right where I am and see to our family’s affairs.  Rather than running away to focus entirely on myself.”  

There was a long pause and then Robb said, “You promised you wouldn’t throw my decision to be with Talisa in my face.”  

Her voice was tight, like a dog chomping at the bit, forcing self-control to answer him.  “Robb, you are my brother.  So I am going to say this to you now, and then I’m going to hang up.  And you are not going to call again unless I call you first.”  

There was silence on the other end.  She took a controlled breath before saying, “You left me with everything.   _ You left.   _ Do.  Not.  Question me.  Or it won’t matter how many countries away you are.  How many filthy third world shacks you and and your bitch hide in.  _  I will find you _ .”  

She held the phone to her ear for a moment before hanging up to listen if he had heard her.  

“I love you, Sansa.”  She hung up.  She didn’t want to hear that.  She wanted to hear him apologize.  Grovel.  She wanted him to hate himself for not being a stronger man.  She looked at Jon, his affect flat in neutrality.  Sansa knew that outwardly he didn’t pick a side, as he knew how fickle the relationship was between the siblings.  She also knew that he was always in her corner, and not just because she had taken him into her employ.  Jon was more of an older brother to her than her actual brother was.  

She came around the car and stood next to him, finding her equilibrium.  She read his sign language as he asked her if Robb had told her he loved her.  She nodded, “He knows I hate that.”  

Jon signed that he felt as though Robb told her he loved her for himself, and not for her.  Not even to upset her.  Sansa smiled with a small exhale.  “You are wasted working for me Jon.  Go become a family counselor.”  

Jon laughed in the peculiar way that only he could and followed her into The Mockingbird.  She had thought that it was an interesting name for bar and wondered why Petyr chose it.  It was daytime when she arrived, so she did not expect it to be open.  The sign was not lit up and there was no indication that it would be either.  However, there was a bartender working and Varys was coming out of the dark hallway that lead to the back offices and restroom.  

He smiled up at her, “What a welcome surprise to see you here!”  

Something about the bald man made her disbelieve him.  She could not place the feeling, though her instincts were alerted whenever he was present.  Jon stood beside her, widening his stance.  After years with Jon by her side, she knew that meant that he sensed it too.  But Jon’s caution was simpler.  He was was ready for any fight, any immediate danger.  Sansa felt that any danger Varys caused would occur far down the road, and bracing yourself for a fight would be too little too late.  She would have wondered why Petyr dealt with him if she didn’t recognize the benefit of having someone like Varys in their employ.  Did she just say  _ their _ ?  Sansa gave herself a mental shake.  

“Varys, I am surprised to see you as well.  I didn’t think the club would be open now.”  She smiled back, holding her purse across her stomach, feeling the need to do something with her hands.  

Varys looked over at the bartender and said, “Training new staff.  Would you like a drink?”

Sansa would like one very much, especially after her conversation with Robb.  Though she thought better of it, looking at Varys.  “It’s a bit early in the day for me.”  

Jon had clasped his fists together, maintaining his powerful stance.  Anyone looking in their direction would be able to read how ill at ease Jon was around Varys.  Sansa looked at him and said, “Perhaps Jon would like to go get one.”  

He looked at her silently, his eyebrows wrinkling, questioning if she was sure she wanted him to leave her side.  She nodded once, indicating her certainty as well as her unwillingness to discuss it further, however silently.  

Jon stalked off.  And Varys spoke, “I’ve never seen someone so upset to have a free day-drink.”  

Sansa’s eyes widened at how well he read their inside language.  She schooled her face as she retorted, “A good bodyguard is always reluctant to leave your side.”  

Varys tucked his hands in his pockets as he asked, “And why would you have need to bring a bodyguard?”  

Sansa bristled at being questioned.  After Robb’s attack and Jon’s well intentioned doubt in her, she was not in any mood for more.  She reminded herself that he was Petyr’s right hand and forced herself to have mercy on him.  She offered a practiced smile as she said, “Jon goes wherever I do.  Where is Petyr?”  

“You don’t know?”  Varys asked, his grin widening.  

She wanted to slap the grin off of his face, “He told me to meet him here.”  

“And you were too obedient to inquire further?”  Varys dared with a laugh.  

Her jaw tightened and her eyebrows furrowed as she growled, “I do not find your sense of humor to be funny.  It is insulting.”  

He instantly bowed his head down and apologized profusely, “I am so sorry Sansa.  I meant it only in jest!”  

She knew that he was being false, and she also knew that they had an audience.  Jon was completely turned away from the bar, standing at the ready to approach.  She shook her head no to him and his muscles relaxed.  The bartender had been watching as well, but dropped his head immediately upon being noticed.  

“If Petyr isn’t here, I’ll try another time.”  She turned about to motion for Jon to join her when Varys held his hands up and asked her to stop.  

“What is it?”  She asked, tired of his presence.  

“Baelish had me clean up that will.”  He started, and Sansa nodded indicated that she was aware.  He continued, “I left it in the Clegane family lawyer’s office.”  

“I know.”  Sansa replied.  She wondered what this had to do with anything.  She had told her lawyer, Samwell Tarly Esq. about hearing of the will from the detective, who she thankfully hadn’t been bothered by since allowing Petyr to manage the investigation.  

Varys spoke softly, “And how is your lawyer coming along with getting you the inheritance?”  

Sansa felt anger boil through her body, her skin hot to the touch, her face flush and ready to spew her verbal assault.  How dare he question her personal affairs?

But before she could, Varys spoke again, “I only ask because of how things look.”  

Sansa paused.  

“You hold no deeds to anything at this point, no territories.  You are just a girl with an art gallery and a lot of money.  The power comes from Baelish.  Rich, attractive women are often times drawn to powerful men.  People who don’t know better think you are just his flashy-fuck.”  Varys spoke gently, a note of sorrow in his voice and dimpled forehead.  

False.  It was all false.  The idea that she was a fling, that Baelish ran the show, that Varys sympathized with her.  She dug her hand into the side of her hip to keep from reaching up and clawing him.  “You couldn’t be more wrong.  The investigation is drawing to a close and Tarly will win me what’s mine.”  

“It must be awful being written off either way you turn.”  Varys continued to present as sympathetic towards her, offering a pitiful look.  

Sansa relaxed her hands, realizing that her strength was not in her fire but instead in her calm cool.  “I don’t follow.”  

“Even if you do succeed and regain everything, people will think he’s only fucking you for the deeds to the areas he controls.”  Varys shook his head, looking down at how sad the state of affairs was.  

“Why is it that in every scenario you’ve concocted, Petyr is running the upper end?”  Sansa asked, curiosity taking precedence over anger.  

Varys looked up at her and smiled, “Because Sansa, everyone knows that Littlefinger killed the Hound.  The laws of the land are simple.  You kill the boss and you become the boss.”

Sansa blinked at how obvious it was.  She had been so concerned about not appearing guilty that she had not allowed anyone to know that she was the one who ended Clegane.  Petyr kept her secret as well.  For a moment, Sansa’s wheels turned as she questioned why Petyr would help her so.  She knew the answer that felt right, that he was trying to protect her.  She also knew that she was not in bed with a saint, and that by keeping her secret he could run the upper end without any resistance.

Though if that had been his reason for helping her keep her secret, why did he bother trying to include her in his business deals?  He wouldn’t have spent all the time he had when they were alone talking about various investors and investments.  He wouldn’t be teaching her anything, hoping for her to stay firmly planted in the dark.  And then there was that night.  He could have easily ripped the gun out of her hand and shot him, himself.  Or better yet still, he could have simply just killed him at the construction site without ever telling Sansa.  It would have been easy enough.  He wouldn’t have invested himself as he had if he wanted to undermine her.  

Sansa laughed sardonically, “Oh Varys, you surprise me.  I would have thought you, being Petyr’s right hand, would be able to peel back some layers to see what’s really there.”

Sansa looked over at Jon, about to motion for him to leave with her, when Varys interjected, “You should be careful with your man, Jon.  He’s awfully fond of you.  Your  _ intimacy _ is easily recognized.” Varys sneered, clearly upset at being chastised by her.  

Sansa stared back into Varys’ eyes, a dusty violet color.  She considered her closeness to Jon, their history was extensive.  She remembered trembling, creeping out of the laundry chute and running on her wobbly legs, trying desperately to make it to the front door.  She had tunnel vision, only seeing the door, only seeing where she needed to be, not expecting to trip and fall in the foyer.  She laid in the sticky red pool and turned her head, scraping her chin on the floor, to find Jon pale as a ghost, deep crimson painted down the sides of his mouth and dyed his clothes to match.  

She remembered his eyes wide and glassy as she heard the faintest of rasps escape his mouth.  He was still alive.  Somehow.  Sansa felt her heart beat faster as she remembered throwing her body on his, her tears pouring onto him, cleaning him to see the pale sheet of skin below.  He was like a pincushion, stabbed in a million places, and she tried to cover them all, pushing down as she screamed, “NO!”  Memory of her own guttural howls echoed in her head.  She had already lost so much, and she refused to lose anymore.   She had demanded that he stay with her.  And he had, never leaving her side since that bloody night.      

She flashed her eyes over to Jon.  He sipped his drink, not totally oblivious to the uncomfortable conversation that occurred between her and Varys.  “Not every intimacy is romantic.” 

“Most men can not understand that.”  Varys looked at Jon.  She was unsure if he was insinuating that Jon felt romantically for her, or that Petyr would not understand and would be jealous.  She knew how dangerous it would be for Petyr to become jealous of Jon and cringed a little inside.  So far, he had not appeared threatened by Jon.  There was the one time that he told her not to let him become an “obstacle.”  Outside of that one instance that appeared to blow over, Petyr didn’t seem to even notice Jon’s existence, let alone be jealous of it.    

Sansa decided to push the attention back on Varys.  She disliked how talking with him made her examine herself so much.  “Your deeper understanding of interpersonal relationships truly separates you from the crowd.” 

Varys’ laugh was sick as he responded, “I’ve always been apart from the crowd, Sansa.”  

“And yet you are always working it.”  She smiled at how she succeeded in redirecting him to talking about himself.  

Varys offered a soft chuckle, looking pleased that he was recognized for his ability to socially maneuver.  His smile was smug as he boasted, “That’s what Petyr pays me for.” 

Sansa felt her shoulders tighten in awareness as she suddenly realized something.  Varys had called him  _ Petyr. _  No one called him Petyr.  Not Clegane.  Not Drogo.  Not Bronn.  And until this moment, not Varys either.  That was intimate--right hand or not.  He noticed it too because his smirk faded and the violet in his eyes shone vibrantly.  

Suddenly things were quite apparent.  “How long have you loved him, Varys?” 

He stood silently gazing back at her, offering her no response.  His wide eyes and tight lips were answer enough.    

“Did you imagine the two of you would continue running the show as you always have.  That he’d be yours forever?  And then I came along and ruined it.”  She found a strength she hadn’t felt earlier.  He had her captured in his grasp, creating insecurity and doubt.  But he didn’t realize who he was dealing with.  Sansa never stayed stuck for long, and she would free herself by any means necessary.  

Varys broke eye contact to glance away.  Sansa scoffed at how weak he was, averting his gaze from her.  She waited until he looked back at her solemnly to continue, her tone intent, “I am Sansa Stark, I own the upper end.  Deeds or no deeds.  Littlefinger or no Littlefinger.  No amount of jawing from you will change that.  I know my place and if you need me to, I’ll show you yours.”  

Varys looked back at her, his face showing just the slightest twinges of disgust at being spoken to so harshly.  He looked like he was about to say something but didn’t.  Sansa smiled smugly at shutting him up and turned to leave.  She motioned to Jon to follow her when he pointed to the back wall.  

Petyr was standing in the archway to the darker hallway that lead to the restrooms and back offices.  He was leaned against the wall, arms folded, with a mischievous smile on his face.  Sansa smiled deeply from her toes as she strode towards him, “There you are!”  

She felt a surge of energy that compelled her to walk faster.  She had threatened two different people and it wasn’t even dinner time yet.  Power and strength saturated her as she felt a growing need to exert herself in other ways.  Sansa tingled and felt her nipples harden as she neared him.  She crashed into him, whole-bodied.  If he hadn’t intended on sex before, she made sure he understood his role now.  His mouth surrendered to her kiss and his hands slid around her, grasping at her back as she ravaged his mouth.  

She was barely aware of him pulling her further down the hall as she grabbed at the bulge in his pants.  For a fraction of a second, she considered the show they made of groping each other in front of everyone: Jon, Varys, an innocent bartender.  Blinded by her salacious need to dominate and show her potency, she didn’t care.  Those that were on her side would understand and those that were not would suffer the slap of her indecency.  

Her mouth never left his as he pulled her into his office.  They rolled around the open door, both rubbing and grasping at each other.  She had tugged Petyr’s shirt off over his head in a fever.  He backed her against the open door, closing it with her back.  His hand reached between them, pulling the buttons apart on her shirt.  She felt a rush of cool air tickle the tops of her breasts and she broke from his mouth to nip at his neck.  

He chuckled, “Missed me, I see.”  

She kept kissing as she worked his belt.   _ Let him think that. _  It wasn’t entirely false, missing him made her agree to meet him in the first place.  Though he must have known more because he teased, “Or perhaps you just need to fuck.”  

Out of control, she nodded vigorously as she reached in his fly and pulled his cock out.  She gripped it firmly and started working it up and down as she moaned, “Yes, I need to fuck.”  

He grabbed the back of her hair and pulled, to bring her face to face with him.  He examined her, neither made a sound, the only movement was her hand stroking him.  “What do you need from me?”

She looked up at him blinking, excited by his willingness to comply as she instructed.  “Be loud.”

He let go of her hair and she leaned forward biting his chest.  He laughed, “I’m sure you’ll make me.”  

Her hand got knocked away in the motion of him scooping her up and carrying her over to his large desk chair.  He plopped down and they both were jostled by the quick motion of rolling back and hitting the wall.  Her thighs pinned him to the chair and she dove back into his fly for his cock, not wanting to miss feeling it’s hard ridges under her hand.  

He groaned at her touch and he leaned forward, kissing and biting at her breasts.  She arched into him, her shirt open, only her bra in the way.  He must have remembered her order to be loud because as his hands came up and grabbed her breasts he said in a much louder voice than was necessary, “I need these tits!”  

Her panties were drenched and probably leaving a wet spot on the front of his pants.  Her hand let go of him as she covered his cock with her damp-panty covered pussy.  He groaned at the texture and heat that now surrounded him.  She pulled her shirt off completely and unhooked her bra, freeing her breasts to him.  She raised her voice as she said, “Is that what you wanted?  Yeah?”  

His hands held her naked breasts and his fingertips plucked at her nipples.  He breathed hard at the feeling of her dragging herself along the length of him in her pelvic motion.  He let out a shaky, “Yesss.”  

She laughed slightly, until her breath caught at the feel of him capturing a nipple in his mouth.  She grinded against the long hard column sitting snug between them, and moaned loudly at the unexpected sensation.  

His hands roamed down to her ass and started rubbing.  At first it was warm circles, but then it became firmer as he started picking desperately at her skirt.  His reached under her curves and slid the skirt up to sit on her hips.  Her cotton undies remained in place, and he cupped and rubbed over them as she continued to grind in his lap.  

He pulled away from her breast to groan at the feel of her massaging him.  He squeezed her and complained, “Your panties are in the way.”  

He slid his hand around and snuck his fingertips in the side to sink deep into her.  She gasped and moaned loudly.  He slid his thumb underneath the fabric as well and explored until he found her nub.  She shuddered with the sensation.  “You seem to be making do.”  She breathed.  

Petyr’s naughty smile sent another tremor through her.  “I want them off.”  

She growled down at him, driving herself onto his hand.  “Then take them off.”  

He removed his hand and started to pick her up to take them off of her.  But she stopped him, “No!”  

Petyr looked up at her confused.  She peered down at him, refusing to stop straddling him in his chair, “Rip them.”  

His pause was momentary before dimples lit up his face.  He reached his hand down and gathered the bottom of her panties in his fist.  He held her waist tight in one arm and pulled the fist full of cloth back with the other.  She watched all the muscles bulge in his bicep as she listened to the sound of her underwear tearing off of her.  

She couldn’t contain her arousal and leaned forward, sinking onto his cock with a loud exclamation.  She grinded up and down a couple of times, her eyes closed reflexively to the feeling of being so completely filled.  She listened to him hiss beneath her.  She opened her eyes and saw he was still clutching the torn crotch to her panties.  

Sansa felt a devilish thought creep out as she grabbed his wrist and brought his hand over to his face.  Petyr understood what she was doing and he inhaled deeply, smiling wide.  She bucked herself into a bounce on top of him.  Petyr kept one hand on her ass, groping and helping her as he looked up and said, “I love watching your tits bounce.”  

She laughed and kept up her rhythm.  “What else do you love?”  

He sniffed the fabric again and said, “The smell of your pussy.”  

She grinned and playfully asked, “Is that why your fingers always smell like it?”  

He dropped the fabric and brought his other hand to her ass cheek and pushed her down on him hard as he growled, “Yes.  I like smelling your pussy when you’re away.”  

His words alone would send her over the edge if she didn’t suddenly have an idea.  “Where is Varys’ office?”  

Petyr looked up at her incredulously.  No doubt wondering how she could be thinking of that fat bald creeping man.  She smiled down at him as she practically read his mind.  He answered, “next to mine.”  

She exhaled as she rode him, sliding a hand up his chest, “Which wall?”  

His eyebrows furrowed as he gripped her hips, helping her bounce, “Over there.”  

Sansa tossed her hair over her shoulder as she looked behind her.  He had a pair of cushioned chairs on either side of small end table, pushed up against the wall.  She groaned at his touch and more so at her detaching from it.  “Come.”

He stood fast at her command following her to the other side of the room, kicking his shoes and pants off as he went.  Sansa shimmied her skirt and broken panties down.  She couldn’t remember when her shoes came off but she passed them by on the floor all the same.  Sansa knelt on one of the chairs, facing the wall behind it.  She pulled her long red hair over her shoulder as she smiled back at Petyr, and arched her back allowing her ass to push out towards him invitingly.  

Petyr held himself in one hand, walking over to her and grinning from ear to ear as he said, “I am the luckiest man alive.”  

She bit her lip in anticipation and moaned at the feel of him slowly enter her.  She gripped the back of the chair as he slid in and out of her, loudly sighing in pleasure.  She stared at the wall ahead of her and felt excitement wash over her as she bellowed, “Yes!  Oh god!  Yes!  Right there!”  

Petyr chuckled behind her.  At first, she thought he was finding her silly, but when he reached around and dipped his fingers to find her nub, she stopped caring what he thought.  She clenched around him reflexively and his volume increased as he said, “You’re so fucking tight.”  

She felt her insides twitch as her nub pulsated in pleasure under his touch.  It wasn’t long before she found herself screaming in ecstasy.  He removed his fingers, and grabbed either side of her hips as he picked up his pace.  She felt a coolness on her hip from where his wet fingers gripped her and listened to the sound of her tits slap with the force he was ramming into her.  In a raspy voice, she encouraged him, “Harder!”  

His tight balls smacked her engorged sex, causing her to clench around him more.  She felt her hips bruise with the force of his grip and she wondered if her ass would bruise from slamming into the delicious V of his pelvis.  She felt him stop suddenly, and swell inside her completely before she heard him roar as he gushed inside of her.  They stayed stuck together for a while before he fell out of her and she stood up, bending her legs to get feeling back after being on her knees for so long.  

He pulled her into a hug, holding her close, as cum dripped down her thighs.  “You are beautiful.”  

She smiled.  She’d heard it a thousand times before, but it mattered more coming from him in moments like these, naked and spent.  “Thank you.”  

He kissed her in their familiar way and said, “Will you tell me why you are mad at Varys?”  

“I handled it.”  She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest.  

He tucked hair behind her ear and cooed down to her, “Oh, I can see that.  Still, would you like some support with it.”  

“I don’t think it’s necessary.  I think he got the message.”  She kissed his chest before releasing him and reaching for her phone.  

Petyr picked up his clothes when he noticed her standing naked in the center of the room scrolling through her phone.  “What are you doing?”  

“Couch shopping.  This office needs a couch.”  Sansa smiled and bit her lip again.  

Petyr laughed as he pulled his pants on.  “Pick out whatever one you want and we’ll make Varys pick it up.”   

Sansa looked down at the torn undies on the floor, “Can we make him pick these up too?”                


	6. Gummy Worms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr growled, “That was messy.”

Sansa, crampy and miserable, felt every bump in the road.  She and Jon pulled into the parking lot for the shooting range and found Arya there already, leaning against her bike.  Sansa got out gingerly and walked over to her, “Why aren’t you already inside?”  

Arya smiled and shook her head, “I’ve got a surprise!”

Sansa smiled sideways with curiosity, “Surprise?”  

Arya turned rifling under canvas and straps on her bike before swinging around, “Guess who brought  _ shotguns! _ ”  Her arms outstretched, gripping a barrel in each hand and a grin from ear to ear.  They were practically the same size as her, hovering only a foot from the ground.    

Knowingly, Sansa hung her head and began cursing in frustration.  

“What?”  Arya’s smile faded as confusion took residence on her face.  

“You only ever bring the shotguns when you’ve got bad news.”  Sansa brought her gaze back up to Arya.    

“Do I?”  Arya gave a skeptical look as she started leading them around to the outdoor range.

“Yes, you do.  Have you been talking to Robb?”  Sansa’s eyes narrowed as she followed.  

Arya’s face scrunched in disgust, “Ew, why would I talk to that bag of dicks?”  

Sansa let out a soft laugh of relief and then said, “Nevermind.  Tell me, what is it?”

“Okay, but just so you know, it’s already been taken care of.”  Arya settled behind the weather beaten counter as she spoke defensively.  

“ _ Arya. _ ”  Sansa was becoming impatient.  

“Bran’s been fucking with drugs.”  Arya kept her gaze down at the shotguns as she loaded them.  

Sansa sighed and rubbed her eyebrow.  “Yes, I know.  I already went to the school when he got caught with pot.”  

Arya’s head reared back in surprise.  “Pot?”

“Yes.”  Sansa was starting to feel annoyed.  

Arya sighed, “No, it wasn’t pot.  He was trying to buy smack.”  

Sansa’s eyes popped out as she hissed, “ _ What?! _ ”  

Arya shoved a shotgun into Sansa’s hand and winced as she said, “Yes.  Don’t throw a conniption fit!  Don’t worry.”

Sansa cocked the gun instinctively and kept it pointed away, “What do you mean, ‘don’t worry?’”  

“I took care of it.”  Arya picked up her own gun and cocked it.  

Sansa brought the gun up to aim and said as she looked through the site, “Explain.”  

“Shoot.  Just once.  Take the edge off.”  Arya pleaded.  

Jon came up beside Sansa slowly, well in view, and signed for her to shoot the gun too.  Feeling ganged up on, she squeezed the trigger and bucked back under the force of it.  She smiled at the feeling of wielding something so powerful and not being able to fight the effect of it.  She turned her attention back to Arya.  “I did need that.  Thank you.  Now, explain what you mean by ‘took care of it.’”  

Arya set her gun down without firing it, “I gave him a hug.”  

“I don’t understand.”  Sansa wondered if someone had replaced her sister with some hippy-dippy granola-eating life coach.  Hugs didn’t fight heroin and Arya knew better.  

“And then I gave him a black eye.”  She would not make eye contact with Sansa.  

That sounded more like her sister.  “A black eye?”  Sansa stared back at her, not allowing her face to betray her emotions. 

“Two.”  Arya reluctantly looked up at Sansa, wincing a little as she admitting her actions.  “I gave him two black eyes and told him if he ever tried to gunk up his veins with that shit again, he would need his jaw wired shut when I was done with him.”  

Sansa stared back, blinking incredulously.  

“Shit.  I’m sorry Sansa.  But the kid needed to clean the fuck up.”  Arya had gone from hiding her head in shame of her actions to standing her ground.  She was confident in how she dealt with the situation.  

Sansa smiled, feeling overcome with pride.  “Sounds like you handled it.”  

“Yeah?”  Arya looked at her in surprise.  

“Yeah.”  Sansa turned back, cocking the gun again.  “And if he didn’t get the message from your discussion with him, I’ll have a  _ chat _ with him too.”  

Arya smiled back as she cocked her gun and took aim beside her.  “Let’s get shooting then!”

“Yes, I need to hurry.  I’ve got plans tonight.”  Sansa agreed.  

“X-rated plans?”  Arya waggled an eyebrow at her.  

Sansa wished.  She had been sex-free for days now.  She had never been a fan of her monthly period, but now that she had Petyr in her life she especially hated it.  “Shut up and shoot.”  

They both turned and started firing.  Sansa’s mind drifted to the sex with Petyr she wasn’t having.  This was only the second time she had had her period with him.  The first time she had just done her best to steer clear of him, not knowing how men in relationships dealt with it, having never been in a real relationship before.  By the end, he figured out why she was never available and assured her that she was still wanted in his bed even if was just for sleeping.   

This last time, a few days into her cycle Petyr took her in the shower.  She remembered telling herself not to feel embarrassed at the red stream that flowed beneath them.  If he was uncomfortable or grossed out, it would teach him to be patient and not push for it next time.  She was pleased and slightly aroused to note that he didn’t appear upset by it in the slightest.  Though she was now finishing up, it had still been five days with only that one time sprinkled somewhere in the middle.  She felt a little unnerved to notice herself becoming edgy without him.  

That is not to say that they weren’t together.  They spent every night together, alternating between places.  Sometimes she felt like she fell asleep in one bed and woke up in another.  Her only constant was the feel of his chest under her head.  They talked in bed more on the nights they only slept.  She told him that she felt she needed to take credit for killing Clegane.  She had wondered momentarily if he would offer any resistance.  But he agreed, telling her that he would corroborate her story.  He confirmed the importance of her being recognized as responsible in order to make any name in this world.    

Sansa felt happy in a way that she wasn’t sure she ever had before.  Just before she went to fire another couple of rounds, she glanced over at Arya and saw something dangling from her mouth.  “Arya?” 

Arya lowered her gun and looked back, “Hmm?”  

“Is that a gummy worm hanging out of your mouth?”  Sansa asked, noting her sister’s lack of class.  

Arya rolled her eyes.  “Yes.  I always eat junk when I bleed.  Don’t judge.”  

Sansa rolled her eyes again and considered how their cycles were lining up, “We’ve spent too much time together.”  

“Great way to say goodbye sis.”  Arya scoffed playfully.  

Sansa hadn’t noticed how time had gotten away from her.  She laid the gun down on the table and looked back at Arya, “Thank you for handling things.”  

“Sure.”  Arya took a cautious breath, “But, why haven’t you?”  

Sansa’s eyes narrowed, “Excuse me?”  

Arya shook her head.  “I don’t mean anything by it.  I just...you always take care of this shit.  And now--not so much.”  

Sansa thought of Robb’s comment about being distracted and she felt anger rise inside of her.  “I missed  _ one _ thing, Arya, one thing.”  She stared ahead at Arya, looking back non-threateningly.  She realized she was not approaching her with judgement and years of baggage like Robb had, so she opened up a little, “You know that I’m with someone now.  That doesn’t come naturally to me.”  

“It’s not just him.”  Arya looked back sympathetically and then continued bravely.  “There’s more; I know it--I know you.  You’re working on something, big.  Like the man with the burns.  I just fucking know it.”  

Sansa realized what Arya was getting at and sighed.  She hated how her sister could see through her so easily.  “Yes.”  Sansa realized now was the time to come clean.  “I’m trying to get it all back.”  

“Get  _ what _ back?”  Arya clearly didn’t understand.  

“ _ Everything. _  Everything that belonged to our parents:  _  every _ business,  _ every _ connection,  _ every _ influence.  I’m trying to take back the upper end.  Reclaiming it for us Starks.”  Sansa spoke proudly about her decision.  

Jon widened his stance and a small smile twinged for a moment.  Sansa knew he wasn’t involved in the conversation officially, but she knew he was very much involved in reality and she took validation from his mute responses.  

Arya said nothing, looking ahead blankly.  She was obviously taking it all in.  And to Sansa’s irritation, she looked  _ underwhelmed _ .  Sansa wondered why she wasn’t excited, proud of her efforts, at the very least happy for her.  Arya finally said in a voice that sounded resigned, “Okay.  I’ll handle family things where I can.”  

“Great.”  Sansa replied and then turned away, her jaw tightening in frustration.  She didn’t understand why Arya wasn’t happy for her.  Arya had offered her some support, but didn’t seem to like it much. 

As they got in the car, Sansa looked at Jon and asked, “What’s her problem?”  

Jon signed back that he thought Arya was just worried for her.  Sansa shook her head and said, “She should save her worry for the other guy.”  

Jon laughed and signed to her that she sounded a lot like Arya just then.  Sansa remembered her saying that before with a battered face and laughed as well.  She smiled as she reached over and smacked Jon’s chest, “Shut up.” 

Then he signed that he “Hadn’t talked a word.”  To which, she rolled her eyes above her smile.  

Later that evening, Sansa walked arm in arm with Petyr, noting with pleasure that the sound system at the fight did not appear to be as loud as it was the other night.  Jon trailed happily behind.  He had sulked at not coming inside last time.  Sansa had no idea that he was a huge fan of MMA.  She appreciated that after all these years, he was still full of surprises, and apparently his favorite was  _ Hit Man _ .  

They were there to meet Drogo again, and no doubt Danny would be present, like a good wife.  Sansa hoped that this meeting would go smoother now that Sansa had asserted herself.  Petyr walked confidently through the chaos of the crowded stadium.  Though he stopped abruptly when they came face to face with a long-haired man with a devilish grin.  Petyr pulled his arm out of hers and wrapped it around her waist gripping tightly, possessively.  

Sansa looked at him, immediately noting his change in demeanor despite his practiced smile.  Petyr stared straight ahead, not acknowledging her reaction.  The man with the devilish grin spoke first, displaying a crooked front tooth, “I did not know you partook of the fights, Littlefinger.”  

Petyr’s voice was a hiss, “That’s strange, because I felt I was clear about my inclinations.”  

The man turned his gaze to Sansa, bright light blue eyes stood in contrast to his tanned skin and dirty brown locks.  His grin widened, highlighting the broken tooth with dimples on either side.  “And who is this delicious minx?”  He reached his hand out indicating for Sansa to shake hands with him.  She reluctantly placed her palm in his, feeling compelled to comply to avoid the awkwardness declining.  He kept his eyes on her as he asked Petyr, “Is she yours?”  

Sansa felt her body heat as anger started to boil in her belly.  Before she could say anything, Petyr dug his fingers into her hip and quickly said, “Yes.” 

Sansa’s jaw tightened and her cheeks reddened as she fought the urge to explode, barely aware that her hand was still trapped in this strange man’s.  Petyr’s fingers dug into her side further in warning.  She realized he must have felt her temperature rise and the muscles in her body flex.  The man with the dirty grin continued, “That is a shame.”  Then he placed a kiss on her hand before letting go, “When you tire of him, give me a call.”  He handed her his business card.  She accepted it only to better know her object of disdain.   It read:   _ Daario Naharis, Customs.   _

Daario gave Sansa one more long, pornographic look, as he spoke to Petyr.  “It’s a pleasure to see you.  We are still on for the twelfth?”  

Petyr nodded, his presentation serious.  Though, she recognized it as defensive.  As Daario left, Petyr’s fingers smoothed out over her hip.  He rubbed little circles as if trying to take back the minor assault.  

Sansa turned her head and glared at him, “What was that?  We agreed that I would come out as head of the north.  Why would you let him think I’m a whore?”  

“Because I don’t want you dealing with him.”  He turned to face her directly, without apology.  

“How heavy-handed.”  Sansa felt her voice harden as she crossed her arms, closing herself to him. 

He placed a palm on her arm, pleading, “He’s head of the Second Sons.  You should never have to deal with them.  I’ve already connected you to the Sons of the Harpy for your shipments.  They are the real business.  The Second Sons have nothing to offer you.”  

“Right now.”  Sansa’s voice was level as she challenged him.  

Petyr shook his head.  “You know I pay them to pose as Sons of the Harpy to the Lannisters and the Tyrells.  They are actors, nothing more.  There is no business with them.” 

Sansa understood but resented having anything decided for her so she spat back.  “You assume quite a lot about a business that isn’t yours.”  

Petyr looked stunned for a moment.  Giving up, he dropped his hand to his side.  “I just want you to have the best.”  

She let her arms drop to her sides as well, knowing the truth in his words.  “And I just want to be able to decide what that is for myself.”  

Petyr reached for her hand and rubbed his thumb over the back of it.  “I know.”

She closed the gap between them, pressing herself to him.  He wrapped his arms around her and said with a smile in his voice, “Would you like to know how I know?”  

“How?”  She spoke into his chest, eyes closed, enjoying the feel of him surrounding her.  

“Because I know everything.”  His smug expression infected his voice.  She began to squirm but he clamped his arms around her and whispered into her ear, “Why are you trying to get away?  You like it when I keep my ‘heavy hands’ on you.”  

Sansa laughed and bit his chest.  Before releasing her, he responded in a low rumble, “You are a cruel woman to tease me so.”  

Jon cleared his throat and they both looked at him, remembering he was there.  He signed that it was time to find Drogo.  Sansa knew that Jon understood the importance of conducting business, though she also understood that he was looking for a reason to get closer to the ring.  She smiled as she remembered that Hit Man would be fighting that night.  

It did not take long to find the couple sitting at a table, ring-side to Jon’s delight.  Petyr and Sansa joined them, Jon having to drag an empty chair over, and sitting a little further away.  Sansa noticed that Danny looked even more pregnant than before, tired and miserable.  For a moment Sansa wondered why she insisted on attending when she felt so horrible, but she knew exactly why Danny insisted on attending.  She didn’t want to lose her seat at the table.  Sansa couldn’t say that she wouldn’t be the same.  For a second, she pictured herself large and exhausted, waddling along side Petyr to whatever illegal activity they had lined up.  She found herself smiling at the thought and then immediately feeling strange, wondering where it had come from. 

Hearing Petyr’s voice brought her back to reality.  “I’m very impressed with what I’ve seen so far.”  

Drogo smiled, brightening up his dark face.  Danny smiled as well, though Sansa noted how it did not reach her eyes.  Petyr continued, “I am so pleased with  _ everything _ that I would refer business to my partner, Sansa.”  

_ Partner?  What the fuck? _  Sansa stiffened at hearing that.  In all of her plans to take over the north, she never considered sharing anything with anybody.  She had wanted to handle it on her own.  Sansa glared at him wondering what his game was.  Danny appeared to be on the same page because as she lifted her legs to lay across Drogo’s lap, she spoke directly, “Partner?  I thought she was your girlfriend.”  

Petyr sneered back at her, “I know it.  I’m going against my own advice, mixing business with pleasure.”  

Sansa’s heartbeat quickened, feeling insulted.  That was not how she thought of things, but it was true just the same.  It wasn’t business, not at first anyway.  But he was giving her his Sons of the Harpy shipment ahead of time so that she could make this deal with Drogo.  She was going to pay him back of course.  But he was floating her the product.  That was something that a business partner may do.  All the hours they spent in bed curled into each other talking, she hadn’t imagined that it would come to fruition.  And also had not considered how that may change their relationship.  She had never considered him a partner, just  _ Petyr. _

It was Drogo who challenged Petyr’s words, with a lift of his scarred eyebrow at Sansa.  “You must be either really important or have a lot of money for Baelish to align himself with you.”  

He always presented so jovial that Sansa was surprised to feel the full weight of his attention on her.  “I am.”  She replied, her mouth dry.  She wet her lips.  “Important.  I run the upper side.”  

Danny shook her head with a disbelieving smile as she felt brave enough to challenge Sansa.  “Your man took it over.  No one has territories given to them, they _ take _ them.”   

Before Sansa could respond, Petyr spoke, his smile almost a warning,  “She did.  It was her that ended things for the previous owner.”  

Both Drogo and his wife looked Sansa over, disbelieving.  Sansa sat straight, and spoke confidently.  “It is true.  Believe it or don’t believe it.  At the end of the day, anything involving the Upper End goes through me.”  

Danny’s eyebrows furrowed in question.  “If you really have taken over, why are we just now hearing of it?”  

Sansa nodded, “Because to  _ terminate _ a relationship like that, may cause a person to face some consequences.  I needed to avoid consequence before I’d be free to declare.”  She hoped that her guarded speech was understood.

Drogo nodded, his arms resting protectively over his wife’s legs.  “Clegane had a brother.  Maybe you’ve heard of him,  _ The Mountain _ .  He’ll come after whoever  _ fired _ his brother.”

Petyr interjected, “You never asked me if I could handle my affairs, when you believed it was me that was managing things.”  

“Because I had no doubt that you would be able to craft a way to handle the situation.” Drogo spoke in a strained voice.  “I do not know if she can handle that type of opposition.  It is important for me to know who I am in business with.”    

As Drogo spoke to Petyr, Danny would not take her eyes off of Sansa.  Sansa answered Drogo, though kept eye contact with Danny.  “I handled Clegane and I will handle his brother if he becomes a problem.  Just like I will handle  _ anyone _ who becomes a problem.”  

Danny instinctively put a hand to her belly.  Sansa held back a smile.  Before she had felt guilty threatening a pregnant woman.  Now she felt powerful in the reaction she created in  _ anyone.   _ Feeling a little feisty from her recent accomplishments, she boasted, “Women are good at bringing men to their knees.”  

Petyr chuckled, “How could anyone argue with that?  Can we please get down to business?”

“You said that you were satisfied.  And you said that you wanted to refer someone.”  Drogo looked directly at Sansa as he spoke to Petyr.  “What would you like to discuss?”  

Petyr opened his mouth to answer but it was Sansa’s voice that was heard, “Train your mules.  Pack mules would be more useful.”  

Drogo’s eyes shot up in surprise and he looked over at Petyr for verification, “Baelish?”  

Petyr knew well enough not to speak against her in front of them, as he responded, “She sounds like she’s onto something.  Pack mules are very useful.”  

Sansa felt relief that he agreed with her.  She knew he would.  As they laid in bed, he had shared with her that he was very happy with how distribution was going and that he wouldn’t have minded risking some sales through him too.  Sansa understood, “sales” meant that people would be walking around with drugs on them, selling them to other people.   _ People like Bran _ .  Sansa couldn’t care about that though.  Drugs were where the money was.  And anyone who took the moral high ground got put in the ground.  She thought of her parents for a moment, murdered in their own home because they refused to deal in drugs.  

Increasing to sales meant so much more.  It wasn’t just a truck moving things from one location to another anymore.  Now there would be dealers involved, pack mules scattered throughout the city carrying.  It would take a lot of trust to elevate business from distribution to sales too.  Sansa didn’t trust anyone, let alone someone she had threatened prior.  But she was willing to risk if the investment was good enough.  Petyr seemed to believe that it was, and therefore Sansa was willing to too.  She valued advice from the self-made man.  

Drogo rubbed Danny’s leg mindlessly, as he looked into her face.  Sansa watched their unspoken communication as he cleared his throat and turned back to them.  “I will invest in the training.  How soon would you need them?”  

“The seventeenth.  Storm’s End Docks.”  Petyr spoke with the details that Sansa had forgotten in all the excitement.  

Drogo nodded his head and Danny stared ahead with another smile that did not reach her eyes.  Sansa wondered if it was the pregnancy or her presence that made the blonde so unhappy.  Drogo seemed a little abrupt, to the point, less light-hearted than before.  Sansa wondered if Danny had told him about their last encounter.  Part of her knew she did, anyone looking at their close bond would know that they shared everything.  Though part of her still wondered if maybe she hadn’t as Danny initiated the girl-talk before, perhaps she was more like Sansa in wanting to handle her own affairs and not run crying to her man every time she was bested.

Petyr rose and held his hand out to help her out of her chair.  Jon glanced up at the movement out of the corner of his eye and immediately rose to follow.  As they walked far enough away to be out of earshot, Petyr growled, “That was messy.”  

“Messy?”  Sansa asked, shocked.  She had been feeling confident and elated over conducting business as head of the north end of the city.  

Petyr walked briskly, forcing Sansa and Jon to keep up.  “Did you not see the strained look on their faces?  Whatever you said to her, it’s affecting how they do business.  It didn’t feel right.”  

Sansa walked, looking at him questioningly, “What do you mean?  They agreed.”  

Jon ran to go get the car while Petyr and Sansa stood waiting.  Petyr sighed, “Whatever you said to her last time, you shouldn’t have.”  

Sansa felt a wave of indignation pour over her, “Excuse me?  You like it when I put people in their places.”  

Without pause, Petyr shot back, “It’s interesting that you put people in their places when you are just now regaining yours.”  

Sansa’s eyes widened and her fists clenched, “Then pull out.”  

“What?”  Petyr’s face scrunched in frustration.  

“Pull out of this deal.  Forget it.”  Sansa turned away from him, wishing Jon would drive up.  

Petyr rubbed his forehead.  “No.  It’s probably fine.”  He came around to the front of her.  “I just got a feeling that things weren’t right.  It’s important to trust your instincts.  However, if this whole thing works out, we stand to make a lot more money.”  

Sansa remained unmoved and stared straight through him.  He slowly raised his hand and gently touched her cheek.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have said what I said.”  

“Then why did you?”  Sansa finally refocused her eyes to see the man before her.  

“I was just on edge seeing Daario.  It was unexpected.  He has no business being here--unless he had business here.”  Petyr tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear.  

Sansa’s eyebrows wrinkled, “Drogo?”  

“Its likely.”  Petyr confirmed.  

Jon pulled up and while Petyr opened the door for Sansa, she admitted that she didn’t completely understand, “What does that mean to us?”  

He closed the door behind them as he pulled her hand into his.  “It means that Daario is putting his fingers into many pies.”  

The rest of the car ride was silent as they both absorbed the events of the night.  The  only sound in the vehicle was the radio announcing the fight play by play.  And the sound of Jon slapping the dashboard excitedly when the radio announced, “ _ Hit Man Won!”   _ It was then that Sansa wished she had some gummy worms.    


	7. Life From a Bag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A jolt ran through her, making all her hair stand on end as she thought about the words, break up.

Sansa sat on the toilet, looking at the empty pill pack, silently cursing at herself.  She had forgotten to take her pill and figured that she would simply pop two to make up for it.  That wasn’t how she normally did things but she had been so discombobulated lately living between houses and trying to establish herself, that she would forgive a small, rectifiable mistake.  

She told herself to calm down, that she may be on track still.  She told herself that her period only ended the day before.  Then corrected herself that it had ended the day before that.  She was two days behind.  She squeezed the empty pill pack in her hand and sighed.  She would just have to call for a refill and pop two -- immediately.  

She thanked her lucky stars that they had not had sex.  The night before she had fallen asleep as Petyr rubbed her back.  And the night before that, Sansa had decided not to tell him that she was over her period.  She was still upset from the night of the fight when they ran into Daario Naharis.  Things were said, apologies were made, but Sansa still didn’t like how she felt at the end of the evening.  She knew she shouldn’t avoid Petyr intimately, but she always withdrew into herself a little when she was upset.  She told herself that she would open up to him the next night.  And that she was allowed a secret to herself, if only for one night.  But then on that night, she fell asleep.  

The next morning, she woke in bed with Petyr wrapped around her, gently squeezing her breasts.  She couldn’t suppress the moan of pleasure that escaped as he massaged.  “Mmm good morning.”  Petyr whispered into her ear.  

“Morning.”  She smiled under his touch.  Instinctively, she arched her ass into his eager erection.  

He groaned and kissed her shoulder as he worked his way to the nape of her neck, inhaling deeply, “How do you smell so good all the time?” 

Sansa chuckled a little, embarrassed by the compliment.  “I could ask you the same thing.”  

She felt his massaging turn to gentle plucking and his voice become husky, “I miss you.”  

There was no need to ask what he meant, she knew.  She felt it too.  “I miss you too.”  

At that little encouragement, he pressed himself against her harder and slid his hand down over her belly to between her legs.  Sansa felt a sudden twinge of discomfort as he grazed over her belly.  It was a very familiar discomfort, she desperately needed to pee.  She grabbed his hand pulling it away.  He jerked his head up in question at the subtle rejection and she assured him, “One second, I have to run to the bathroom.”  

He smiled in understanding as she rose from the bed and dashed to the bathroom.  It was during the longest pee of her life that she wondered how much she had drank the night before as well as realized that she hadn’t taken her pill.  She was relieved to find she had left her purse in the bathroom from the night before when she was touching up her mascara.  She reached as far as she could to grab it and began rummaging through it for her pill.  

And here she was sitting on the toilet, clutching an empty package of birth control, with her man on the other side of the door, naked and ready for her.   _ Fuck. _

They had been going back and forth between houses, sometimes just to sleep, and it had made things confusing.  Sansa felt like she lived in a bag, grabbing clothes to change into and not much else.  Petyr left some of his clothes in a drawer at her place, but often ran out and needed more all the time.  She still didn’t have any sleepwear from when Petyr had burned all of her nighties, which left her feeling ill-prepared for sleep.  Though, they often slept naked together or with her wearing his shirt, she still felt as though she was in a constant state of sleeping over at someone else’s house, even when she was in her own.  Being half in and half out of houses, her own house didn’t feel as it had before.    

Deciding which house to retire to was completely arbitrary and always done at the last possible moment.  At times she would flirt with the idea of going home alone, for no other reason than she hadn’t in so long.  Sometimes she would think she needed to slow things down, and declare her independent space.  All of that would melt away with one look from the mossy green pools of his eyes, the feel of his tender his lips, and the perfection of his roving hands.

It was those same features that left her feeling punch-drunk and agreeable to whatever he desired, resulting in more time at his house than her own.  Sansa chastised herself for forgetting to renew her prescription.  She had never truly had to worry about the pill before as she had never before slept with anyone without a condom.  It had just been Petyr.  She also had never been so occupied before that she forgot details like these.  She thought about what to do next: no sex until she could pop two pills.  She just needed to stall until she could get her refill.  Sansa pulled up the pharmacy on her contacts and punched the numbers on the back of the package, listening to the automated phone line until it stated that her order was complete.  She jammed the pack and the phone it back in her purse as she thought of how to divert Petyr.  

Sansa was embarrassed at forgetting, and she also didn’t want to turn him down again, it had already been so long for them.  She realized that she had been in the bathroom for a while so she turned on the shower and jumped in to stall for time.  She stood under the showerhead, allowing the warm water to run over her as she started crafting her excuse for a hasty get-away.  She looked up when she saw him through the glass out of the corner of her eye.  He was completely naked moving to push the door open.  She stopped him, immediately saying, “No!”  

He stopped, palm on the handle as he looked at her in question.  Sansa had to think quick.  She knew he wanted her and she wanted him, but she knew she just had to get through the next few hours until she could get her prescription.  “Sit down.”  

“What?”  He asked through the glass in confusion.  

Sansa motioned through the glass towards the only seat in the bathroom, the toilet.  “Sit down.  Grab your cock.  And tell me what you want to see.”  

A smile crept on his face as he looked up at her skeptically.  “Okay…”  

He walked over and sat down, spreading his legs and wrapping his fingers around his semi-hard member.  She realized that she was on display, and it was time to start performing.  She grabbed some soap, working up a lather as she asked, “What would you like me to wash first?”  

He watched her run her hair under the water as her hands rubbed together, producing more and more soap suds.  “Your tits.”  

Sansa tried not to roll her eyes.  She laughed internally at how predictable men could be, but rubbed her soapy hands over her breasts all the same.  As she did so, she worked her nipples in circles, knowing that he would like that, and watched his hands pump up and down on his cock.  She found  _ she  _ liked  _ that. _  “What else?”  

Sansa trailed her hands down over her stomach and hip to her thighs.  She was rubbing her thighs when she noticed the rate at which he was massaging himself up and down increased.  “Your ass.”  

She turned around, pushing her backside out for a better view as she ran soapy hands over each cheek.  Turned around, she could hear over the shower head the slap of his hand on himself increase as he said, “Touch yourself.  Let me see.”  

Sansa turned around to face him and slid two of her fingers in between her lips, one on either side of her clit as she massaged herself.  She felt little waves of pleasure at each rub, and she closed her eyes, overcome from the feeling of her fingers working herself.  She opened them just as Petyr was through the glass door, one foot in the shower, and one foot out.  Surprised, she asked, “What are you doing?”  

He smiled his naughty grin, “That was fun, but I don’t want to play anymore.  I want to be inside you.”  

She melted as he wrapped himself around her, kissing her neck, backing her against the shower wall.  His fingers dropped down between her legs.  Her eyes snapped open wider and she drew in a sharp breath at the feel of his fingers entering her.  She found herself giving in and kissing him back.  Her head pulled back as she moaned under his touch and bit her own lip at the feel of him grip her thighs and spread them.  She felt him line himself up to her and she wanted to say, “We shouldn’t.”  But the words died in her mouth as she felt him invade her completely.  She stood, pinned against the shower wall, wrapped tightly around him.  Her heart beat rapidly, and her moans reflexive, as she was reminded how good it felt to take him in.  He pushed himself in and out slowly, nuzzling her neck, “I missed this.”  

“Yeah?”  She asked, unable to handle complex thoughts let alone statements.  She let her head roll back and rest on the shower wall behind her as she felt him massage her with his motion between her legs.  

“Yeah.”  He kissed her neck before saying, “I want to feel you come around me.  I need to feel it when I come.”  

She brought her head up in sudden realization and was only able to say the word, “No.”  

He kept pumping, clearly not realizing what she said.  Her words did not match her actions.  She grabbed the back of his neck, pulling his face to hers.  She looked him in the eye and said, “No.”  

He stopped moving, and stood still within her.  His eyebrows furrowed and his face displayed confusion, “What?”  

Sansa spoke with as much control as she could, “Get out of me.”  

He began to understand slowly as he pulled out of her completely and released any grip of her that he had.  His hands held in the air he looked at her and asked, “What’s going on?”  

“I don’t want to fuck.”  She didn’t know what else to say to get him away from her.  

Petyr looked at her incredulous, “You don’t?” 

“No.  I don’t.”  She crossed her arms over her chest and kept her face blank.  

“Really?”  He asked with skepticism in his voice.  Then he pointed at the toilet, “What was all that ‘ _ what should I wash’ _ stuff about then?”  

Sansa was starting to feel bad about the mixed message she had given him.  “I figured if you got off, you would be fine and not need to fuck.”  

His look of confusion turned darker and Sansa couldn’t tell if he was angry or offended, or both.  “If I just wanted to get off, I wouldn’t need you.  Maybe you forgot--I own a fucking strip club.  I wanted to feel  _ you-- _ fuck  _ you. _ ”  

Sansa felt ashamed of herself for keeping at a distance.  She knew she should just be honest with him.  The two of them stood naked, staring at each other, water beating down on them from all directions.  She confessed, “I’m out of birth control.”  

“Okay.”  He said, seemly not registering what she was saying.

She sighed, “It’s not okay.  We can’t have sex unless you wear a condom.”  

“Not likely.”  He balked.  “I don’t even have any.”  

“I do.”  She answered quickly, thinking she might have found a solution to their problem.

His jaw tightened, “Why do you have condoms?  We don’t use those.”  

Before thinking about it, she said, “Oh it was left-over from--”  And then she stopped talking, realizing what past she was drudging up.  

“I don’t want to hear this.”  He turned and walked out of the shower.  Sansa remained, alone.  She decided to wait a couple of minutes for him to get dressed before she got out to dress herself.  In the current mood of things, she suddenly didn’t want him to see her naked as she put her clothes on.  She told herself that it was a silly thought, he’d seen her like that hundreds of times.  But for some reason, it felt uncomfortable in that moment.  

She met him in the kitchen, both fully dressed.  The center island stood between them.  He was the first to speak, “I know that you are capable of being direct.”  

Sansa looked forward, not allowing herself to stare at her feet in guilt.  “Yes.”  

“But you weren’t being direct.”  Petyr’s tone was eerily even.  “And you had no trouble before.”  

“I should have just come out and said it.  I’m sorry.”  She maintained eye contact as she spoke.  She hoped a direct apology would make up for not being forthcoming.  

“How did this happen?”  He asked as he uncrossed his arms and loosened his posture.  

Sansa had been wondering that herself, “I don’t know.  Things have been so busy lately, I must have just forgotten.”  

“You’re not the careless type.”  Petyr insisted, flashing her a critical look.  

Sansa couldn’t help but feel frustration building inside of her.  She apologized to him, but he was still challenging her.  She told herself that it was an accident, nothing worth getting stuck on.  She felt herself become defensive as she responded, “No, I’m not.  But the way things are going, shit is sliding.”  

“What are you saying?”  Petyr walked forward, leaning against the counter.  

Sansa sighed and tried to get to the point of the matter.  “It’s just difficult to live out of a bag.”  

Petyr exuded frustration, “Then why do you?”  

“What do you mean?”  Confusion and annoyance were now warring across Sansa’s face. 

Petyr brought his arms up over his chest again, “I mean, why don’t you just move in already?  You spend more nights here anyway, you might as well.”

“You always want me to!”  Sansa shot back.  She had to admit that moving in did seem like the simplest solution.  But, this was not how she wanted things to progress, him fuming in his kitchen one morning telling her she ‘ _ might as well’ _ move in.  “I stay here because you want me to.” 

Petyr cocked his head to the side, like a lawyer, picking at her statements.  “Are you trying to tell me that you don’t want to stay with me?”

Sansa felt her face tighten as she spat back, “Not if I ‘ _ might as well _ .’” 

He scoffed, tossing his arms up in the air.  “I was just being logical, Sansa.  I apologize I didn’t romance you enough while I tried to solve a problem.  Neither of us want you to forget your pill again.”  

Fury rippled through her as she thought about the many ways he had just offended her.  “You’re a real asshole, you know that?” 

Sansa turned to walk out of the kitchen but stopped when she heard him say, “Maybe  _ you wanted _ to forget it!”  

She reared back on her heel, “ _ What?! _ ”

Petyr stood still staring back at her with ire.  “You heard me.”  

“Ha!”  Sansa laughed in anger, “Yes, I did hear you.  I heard you ‘ _ just being logical _ .’”  She turned and walked towards him, pointing her finger.  “I heard you tell me I should move in because it’s more convenient for you.   _ And _ I heard you tell me that I forgot my pill on purpose -- why would I  _ ever _ do that?  Because I just want a baby so bad that I refuse to fuck you!”

Petyr caught her arm before her finger jabbed into his chest and he stared back into her eyes.  His voiced turned hard as his eyes bore into hers, “Maybe you forgot your pill so that you wouldn’t have to fuck me.”  

He let go of her arm and looked expectantly back at her.  It was as if he was daring her to say otherwise.  Sansa put a hand on her hip as she dove into sarcasm, “Yes, I totally hate fucking you.  It’s such a miserable experience that I do it most days.”  

“Not lately!”  Petyr shot back, his voice more elevated.  

Sansa had never seen him this way before.  He was always so calm and controlled, able to face anyone without a feather ruffled.  But in this--with her, he was flustered.  She was not unaffected by his emotional struggle, responding weakly, “You know I was on my period.”  

“That was days ago, Sansa.”  He was persistent, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to calm himself down.  In a softer voice that was clearly forced, he said, “Do you think I don’t know your body?”  

For the briefest of moments she felt herself falter.   _ He knew _ .  He knew that she avoided him that night.  She felt herself warm to him for his intimate knowledge of her, his desire to study her so closely.  And then her feelings soured as she considered his personal investment in studying her.  She thought about what he had to gain from it.  “All of this is just because you’re horny.  You’re blowing everything all out of proportion.”  

“Of course, I’m horny!  I sleep next to a beautiful woman every night.  Who wouldn’t be?  But that is not the point!”  He rolled his eyes back at her.  

She turned and left the kitchen, “I’m not sure I want to hear the point, Baelish.”  

“ _ Baelish?!” _  He followed after her.  “We’re formal now?”  

She spoke as she walked towards the bedroom, “Pardon me if I don’t feel especially intimate with a man who only wants me for sex.”  

“No!”  Petyr growled.  “That’s not what this is about.  Don’t try to twist it.   _ You _ pulled away from  _ me. _  For some reason, you avoided me.   _ Why?!” _

She started shoving things into her bag, refusing to look up at him.  “You pulled away from me first.”  

“ _ When?! _ ”  His face was turning red from all the exertion of the argument.  

She thought of the disappointed and irritated look on his face the night of the fight, the night of Drogo and Daario.  “When you were upset with me for handling Dany.”  

Silence suffocated them as the minutes ticked by, both glaring at the other, unwavering.  Finally in a controlled voice, Petyr spoke.  “You were impulsive and cocky.  It was cute at the time.  In the long run, it may have caused us more difficulties.  Business is not run on  _ cute. _  You can’t be impulsive.”  

“And you hate me for my mistake.”  She picked up her bag, hooking it on her shoulder.  

“No.”  He shook his head.  “I was annoyed.  I had to plan for possible backlash.  But I did not and do not  _ hate  _ you for it.  It was a teachable moment, Sansa.”  

She stood, feeling lead in her bag, weighing her down.  “But you didn’t teach me.  You snapped at me and then ignored me.”  

“And you are snapping at me now.”  He smiled, a little exasperated, as he pointed out.  “Aren’t we perfect?”  

She wanted to smile, but realized that he was calming her down and that made her more mad.  She cared less about the other day then she did the offenses of today.  She thought about the casual and careless way he asked her to move in with him.  “Clearly not.  I’m headed home.”

He sighed, “Sometimes, I remember that you’re only twenty.”  

Sansa was enraged.  She trembled with the fire that washed over her, and rather than spewing obscenities, she accessed the part of her brain designed to cut others.  “You love our age difference when you’re in between my legs.  My smooth, tight skin is the perfect contrast to your own, helps you forget just how little time you have left.  It must stress you out knowing you can only run things for so long, my pussy must be the tightest distraction for you.”  

Petyr’s face was pained.  She took some joy in her little victory. She wondered for a moment if he was so affected because he felt like a dirty old man, robbing her cradle.  He must have seen the pleasure she took in hurting him because he gasped, “Get out.”  

She froze.  “What?”  

“Get out of my house.”  He pointed towards the door.

She knew she shouldn’t have been surprised, she definitely hit a sore spot.  It was sensitive to her too, always feeling inexperienced and needing him to teach her things, hold her hand through everything.  Sansa hated having to rely on someone else for anything, let alone to feel like she would always be turning to him simply because of her age.  They never talked about it, but the way others poked at it with her, she knew it had to be on his mind too.  Sansa started to feel guilty thinking of just how low of a blow she made.  

“Please, leave.”  Any anger he had washed clear from his face, his voice sounded shaky with his wound.  

“Okay.”  She felt completely disarmed.  And then she added, “I was on my way out anyway.”  She didn’t know why she said it, and instantly felt embarrassed by how childish it came out.  She strode out as fast as she could without running, hoping not to see his face or the agony residing in it.  

As she got past the front door, she broke into a run.  Jon threw his coffee to the side, creating a loud splashing sound against the stone walkway, and instantly trailed behind her, pulling his gun out.  As she reached the car, she gasped, “No danger.  We just need to leave now.”  

Jon holstered his gun and got in the car.  As they drove away, Sansa fought to keep from hyperventilating.  Was this is what a break up felt like?  A jolt ran through her, making all her hair stand on end as she thought about the words:  _ break up. _

Jon couldn’t sign to her as his hands were on the wheel, speeding the car away.  Though he intermittently looked at her.  She knew she must be a terrible sight.  Feeling the need to assure him, she spoke, “I’m sorry for scaring you.  I was being over-dramatic.  I just needed to get out of there.”  

His eyes questioned her as he slowed the car down to the speed limit.  Sansa swallowed hard and wet her lips as her mouth had gone dry.  She stared out the window trying to sound any other way than hollow, “I think Baelish and I are through.”  


	8. Half Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stop. I’m sorry.” Sansa put her hand on his on the gear shift. “I’m a bitch.”

The first day without Petyr was easy because she was still angry.  Jon slowed the car down to pull into the driveway and Sansa looked up at her house and shook her head.  Her lips pursed in frustration, “No.  Keep driving.”

Jon let go of the wheel long enough to ask her where.  She answered shortly, “Anywhere, I don’t care.”

The car accelerated and Sansa sighed loudly, “He kicked me out.  Can you believe that?”  

Jon raised an eyebrow as he signaled to turn.  Sansa looked out the windows of the car as she spoke.  She may have started speaking to Jon, but it was clear that she had started thinking out loud to no one in particular.  “Every goddamn night he bugs me to go to his place and then we get into one argument and he boots me out?  That’s bullshit.  And who the fuck does he think he is talking to me like that?”  

She mocked his voice, “ _Sometimes, I remember you’re ONLY twenty.”_ “He makes it sound like I’m a fucking tween begging for rides to the mall.”  

Jon tucked his hair behind his ear and flashed his eyes at her.  She continued as if he wasn’t there, checking on her as he drove.  “And to insinuate that I am the one in the wrong here is just ridiculous.  All because I wouldn’t fuck him.  I mean I know he’s _Littlefinger_ and everything but I can’t be the only woman who’s said no to him.”  

Sansa started picking through her purse for no particular reason other than to have something to do with her hands and to focus her gaze on.  She moved scraps of paper, lipstick, gum, etc. aside as if looking for something in particular as she spoke.  “It’s my body, it’s my fucking business.”  

Jon nodded in agreement and she looked up, catching his gesture.  “That’s right!  Just because a woman lets you touch her doesn’t mean you have any rights to her.  You can’t just make her fuck you whenever you want.”  

Jon turned to face her instantly, his eyebrows shooting up in exclamation.  Sansa waved her hand, “No!  No!  He never made me do anything.  I’m just saying.  In general.  Fuck.  I don’t know what I’m saying.”  Sansa covered her eyes and spoke from behind the shield of her hand, “He didn’t do anything wrong.  He just wanted to be intimate and I didn’t.  That’s all.”  

She chanced a glance in his direction.  Jon had given her a sideways look of disbelief.  Sansa scoffed, “Alright, fine.  I did want to.  But I said no regardless and he got annoyed.”  Anger flared up inside of her again, “What right does he have to get annoyed with me?”

Jon shook his head that he didn’t know.  And Sansa sighed, “You wouldn’t understand, Jon.  All I can say is that if we aren’t over, I’m gonna end it.  No matter what, I’m not going to put up with being treated this way.”  

Sansa continued to pick through her purse, spouting various irrational angry thoughts on Petyr.  No two thoughts matched up, just that it always ended in Petyr being the villain and her being innocent if not the victim.  

Finally, the car stopped and Sansa looked up to see they were parked in section J9 of the nearest shopping mall.  “What the hell are we doing here?”  

Jon grinned wide and signed that he thought she was begging for a ride to the mall -’like a tween.’  

Sansa glared at him for a moment, allowing what he was telling her to register.  And then she reflexively threw her arm over, hitting him in the chest.  “You’re such a dick,” she smiled back at him.  

He was laughing at her as he signed to her to get out so that they could go get a frozen yogurt.  It was something they used to do when they were younger and felt like the world was unjust.  

“We felt it was unjust because it is.”  Sansa reminded him.  

Jon stared back at her, unmoved by her words.  After a moment, he signed the letter E.  Then the letter M.  And finally the letter O.  And then he broke out in a grin from ear to ear when Sansa extended her middle finger at him.  

“Seriously Jon, fuck you.”  She waved her hand at the parking lot, “Let’s get out of here.  Unless you want to see that Yvette chick?”  She gave him a suggestive grin.  

He rolled his eyes and signed to her that “Yvette” was not her name.  He then signed out the letters to spell:  Ygritte.  Sansa scoffed, “Are you, of all people, telling me how to pronounce something?”  

Jon shot her a dirty look and moved to shift the car out of park.  “Stop.  I’m sorry.”  Sansa put her hand on his on the gear shift.  “I’m a bitch.”  

Jon nodded his head up and down and then a small smirk crept on his face as he signed to her that not only was she a bitch but one that couldn’t enunciate or read a name tag.  

Sansa smiled back and said, “Only you Jon.  Only you can get away with saying this stuff to me.”  

She watched his hands sign as he asked why couldn’t _he_?  She knew which “he” Jon meant.  She bristled at the mention of him.  “I know what you are doing Jon, and it isn’t going to work.  I’m too angry to even think anything coherent.”  Sansa took a deep breath and smoothed out her shirt as she continued, “This is what we are going to do, you are going to get out of this car, go to that sporting good store and get that girl’s number.  Then you are going to drive us to Highgarden -- I think I owe you a coffee.”

Jon pointed to the bottom of his pants where the coffee he threw had splashed up and hit the cuff.  Sansa looked back guilty at him, “And I’ll cover your dry cleaning bill.  Now go get that girl!”  

Jon asked her why and she replied, “Because you deserve to be happy.”  To which, Jon pointed out how unhappy she looked.  Part of her knew that he was just putting up roadblocks because he was nervous himself about approaching women, his lack of a tongue was mortifying him.  She could have assured him, cracked a joke that tongues weren’t the only thing that made men worthwhile.  She could have spoken to him in the way that only they had been able to to speak to each other over the years, and encouraged him.  But she didn’t.  Sansa considered what he said.  She had found a man, given herself over to him, and where had it gotten her?  Yelling in a car, and very much _not_ happy.  “Okay.  Fine, I’m dropping it.”  

They drove to Highgarden and as they walked out, Sansa stared at the brick wall where her and Baelish shared their first kiss.  She remembered the sensation of feeling caught, hands full, unable to stop or prevent his invasion.  And she remembered giving into it, meeting his eagerness with her own.  She had never been kissed like that, and deep down feared that she never would be again.   _Damn him!_

After Highgarden, and a quick trip to the pharmacy to pick up her prescription, Sansa insisted that they go to Stark-Naked Art Gallery.  She resolved to work the day away.  She knew that she was always more productive when she was angry.  She also had decided that his little tantrum that morning would not ruin her entire day.  Sansa would not turn into sobbing mess like all the women from the movies, she would shake him off and move on with life.  Sansa focused all of her attention calling potential buyers and tracking down angsty artists.  

She often left her office often to pace around the lobby, looking through the large glass store front out of the corner of her eye.  If asked what she was looking for she would have said she was just looking.  But the reality of the situation was that she remembered the days when he watched her, and part of her wished that he would again.  Each time she saw he wasn’t there, she cursed a little to herself and strengthened her resolve, _Good.  Stay away.  I’m done with you._

She watched the day turn to night as she paced Stark-Naked, staying way past closing, long into the evening.  She was thankful that Jon had brought her some food here and there, allowing her to angrily and spitefully chew as she thought of more sarcastic responses to various things Petyr had said that morning.  Finally, when the clock struck 11:00 PM, Sansa accepted that she would have to go home.  Alone.  She grabbed her coat and started to walk towards the back door when a petite woman with wavy dark brown hair slid in through the door and closing it quickly behind her.  She turned and looked back at Sansa, smiling.  

Sansa did not recognize this woman.  She knew that she should feel intimidated to some degree, but looking at how small she was, and not seeing any weapons on her, she decided she was in just the right mood to roll with handling an intruder if things got aggressive.  “That door was locked.”  

The brunette smiled and said, “Yes, it did take a second to pick.”  

Instantly, Sansa recognized the voice.  “Shae.”  

“Yes.”  She walked down the small hallway toward Sansa, “I felt I should meet in person with you to discuss our contract.”  

Sansa had forgotten that she had hired Shae to follow Petyr when they got together.  It was very helpful at first.  It allowed her to feel closer to him, understand his motives for different things.  She hadn’t checked in with her for awhile now, but had never officially discontinued services with her either.  “What about it?”  

“At 9:38 this morning you left Petyr Baelish’s home _distraught_ .”  Shae handed Sansa a picture of her running down the stone walkway with Jon in tow, her face definitely looking _distraught._ Sansa feared she would never live down that dramatic exit, and tore the picture.  

“Yes.”  Sansa acknowledged, keeping her affect flat, not wanting to appear too emotional again.  

“Both you and Baelish have spent the day apart, this behavior is unusual for you.  A conclusion could be made that the intimate relationship has been terminated.”  Shae gestured at the obviousness of what she had been observing.  

Sansa crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling exposed.  “Go on.”

Shae continued, “Men like Littlefinger don’t let women leave them.”  

Sansa laughed sardonically, “ _He_ kicked _me_ out!  I think I’m fine leaving.”  

Shae’s voice turned softer as she bowed her head gently insisting, “Would you say that he was _hurt?_  Emotionally?”  

“If you are asking if I gave as good as I got, then yes.”  Sansa snickered.  

Shae spoke confidently, “Men in pain do horrible things, and often times, very unexpected things.”  

“What are you getting at?”  Sansa did not like what she was insinuating.  

“All I am saying is that I can watch him for the next week or so to make sure he doesn’t become unsafe.  I’ll keep you up to date to his comings and goings so that you can continue to feel secure in your life or if required, take the precautions necessary to maintain your safety.”  Shae spoke logically.  Sansa could see why she had earned Arya’s recommendation.  

Sansa liked the idea of keeping tabs on him, seeing what he was up to.  Would he go on, business as usual?  As she had?  Or as she tried to tell herself she had.  The thought of Petyr coming after her hadn’t occurred to her.  Thinking about all the times that she looked out the window throughout the day and didn’t see him, she felt pretty confident that he wouldn’t come after her.  But the idea of finding out what he was up to was appealing.  

“How soon can you start?”  Sansa asked.  

Shae pulled out photos of Petyr’s home, and glimpses of him walking by the windows, his expression unreadable.  “I’ve been watching him all day.  He hasn’t left his house.  For now.”  

“Report to me tomorrow night.”  Sansa gestured for her to leave.  Jon stepped out of the bathroom.  He had been standing there the whole time.  When Shae had crept in, Sansa had wondered where he was.  Apparently when he heard voices, he was going to swing the door open in the intruder’s face.  Though he realized quickly that Sansa didn’t sound as though she felt threatened and waited instead.   

As they walked out, he signed to her his agreement with her plan to retain Shae’s services.  He explained that it never hurt to be cautious.  She nodded in agreement, knowing her real reason for snooping.  She wanted to know how he would cope, if he would care.  

Once they got home, Sansa kicked her shoes off and padded through her dark home looking down at her own feet.  Something inside told her not to look around.  She didn’t want to see what her home looked like after being away for days.  She got to her bed and collapsed fully clothed.  

The second day without Petyr was much harder than the first.  Waking up alone reminded her of how natural it felt to wake up next to him.  The feel of her supportive bra did not replace the feel of his hand cupping and holding her to him.  She removed her clothes, climbing back in just her panties and bra on.  Hoping that shaking the confines of her clothes would help her feel more comfortable in her own bed, Sansa laid in the dark.  

The morning light had crept under her curtains but had not brightened the room as they were “black out” material, at Petyr’s request.  She reached out from under her blankets and gripped her phone from the nightstand.  No calls.  No messages.  Sansa closed her eyes and swore.  She started retracing the conversation.  She knew when it had gone past the point of no return, but what about before that?  She started wondering what could have been said differently.  She had played this fight over and over again a hundred times the day before and each time Baelish was a dick and she was just defending herself.  This time, however, she thought of the pain in his face, the uncomfortable way he ruffled his hair, and how at times his voice almost pleaded with her.  

 _For what?_  Pleading her for what?  Yesterday, she thought it was for her to give in, lose, quit.  On this day however, thinking about it, it sounded like he was pleading for something else entirely.   _Her_.  To be with her.  It wasn’t about winning or losing.  It was about her letting him in, sharing herself with him as she had before.  

She traced back in the conversation further, to the shower.  She remembered the plains of his body as he stood bare before her, hands in the air, completely rejected.  She remembered how his body felt against hers.  She thought about how he walked into the shower, not understanding, and told her how he wanted to be inside her.  She felt a stir deep within her belly and suddenly felt the strong presence of her underwear.  Sansa shimmied them off under the covers and unhooked her bra.  She rolled over onto her stomach and allowed the coolness of the bed sheets to caress her nipples.  

Sansa reached her hand down between her belly and the bed.  She started with her left hand, as she had grown used to using her right hand on Petyr.  She was dominant in her right and wanted more confidence in whatever she used it for.  But she realized he wasn’t there anymore and she switched to her right and slid her index finger between her lips.  She massaged the left side of her nub towards the top as she knew it was the most responsive there.  Petyr knew that too.  

She brought her middle finger in to press against the other side of her clit as she remembered him kissing her and entering her.  Sansa applied more pressure as she remembered the feel of him holding her legs open to him.  Her speed increased, and found herself grinding into her hand simultaneously as she thought of him completely fill her as he nuzzled into her neck, unable to get close enough to her as he said, _I missed this._  

She found herself teetering on her edge as she replayed the deep need in his voice as he confessed his desperation to be close to her--that same desperation she was feeling now.  She felt little waves of pleasure wash over her as all the muscles in her body flexed through her orgasm.  

Knowing her own body so well helped her come quickly, but it was so underwhelming when she had knowledge that there was another person out there that knew her body so well too.  She panted a little at the exertion and brought her hand up, catching a faint whiff of her natural scent on her hand.  And then she cried.  

The smell had sparked a memory.  They were in his office, teaching Varys a lesson when Petyr told her that he loved smelling her when she was away.  She wondered if he smelled her after their fight. He had touched her in the shower, not long before.  She found herself tearing up, burying her face into her pillow wondering how they had gotten from that level of intimacy to this level of loneliness.  

Suddenly, she didn’t want to be naked at all, feeling too exposed even completely alone in the safety of her own dark bedroom.  She stood up and went to her closet, flicking the light on and saw all the empty hangers, remembering Petyr taking all of her lingerie down, telling her that she didn’t have to dress up for another man anymore, declaring her his own.  He did that one day, and then he stood in his kitchen and told her to get out, the next.  Streams rolled down her cheeks unabashed as she stood naked in the light of the closet.  She reached for her tank and sweats, her most comfortable clothes in the world and slid them on, hearing his voice tell her, _you look great in these._  

Was there nothing that she owned that he hadn’t infected somehow?  She opened her curtains and looked out the window, scanning the street.  She saw no sign of him, not a limo, a town car, or his Lexus.  She wiped the tears from her eyes and left to go downstairs.  Jon was in her kitchen making coffee.  She noticed that he had placed a folded up newspaper at her chair and a plate of eggs and toast.  He looked up at her smiling encouragingly and she felt herself wretch.  She turned and ran up the stairs, dropping to the floor next to the toilet and heaving the contents of her stomach from the night before into the bowl.  Jon had rushed up behind her, placing a wet washcloth on the back of her neck.  She gripped it and looked up at him, his face wrinkled in worry.  Her body trembled with the shock of upending her insides.  As she stood up, he ran out for a second, returning with a blanket.  He wrapped it around her and asked if she needed to go to the doctor.  

She shook her head and said, “I just need some anti-acid and to get to bed.”  Her morning ritual was ruined.  Something she had to herself for years, shared with Petyr over the past couple of months, now reminded her so strongly of him that she couldn’t stomach it.  

Sansa waited until Jon was out of eyesight before reaching in her medicine cupboard and pulling out some Tylenol PM.  She popped two and crawled into bed with the hope of sleeping away most of the day.  She bundled her blankets around her tightly and closed her eyes wanting to dream of anything but his grey-green eyes.  

She vaguely remembered Jon coming into her room, the light from the hallway shining and telling her she slept the day away.  She hollered, “Leave me!”  

The third day without Petyr, Sansa woke with a sharp pain across her face, she looked up and saw the blurry outline of ratty brown hair and a pinched face scowling at her.  Her eyes came into focus and she saw Arya crouched over her.  “Get the fuck up.”  

Sansa blinked back, trying to regain her bearings.  

“If you want to save your pretty face, sis,”  Arya leaned in closer, resting her forehead against Sansa’s, whispering as she gently stroked the stinging cheek.  “you will get your ass out of bed, right now.”  

Sansa slowly sat up, “What the hell?”  

“Your girlfriend here told me you weren’t eating and you slept the day away.”  She gestured to Jon before she yanked the curtains back.  

Blinded, Sansa brought her arms up to cover her eyes, “He called you?”  

Arya started laughing, her words mocking,  “Yeah!  He _called_ me.  Tapped morse code on the mouth piece.  What’s that Lassey, Sansa’s gone crazy without the dick?  I’ll be right there!”

Sansa shot her a dirty look.  “You know what I meant.  And don’t be a cunt to Jon.”

Arya shot Jon an apologetic look and he held up his hand, nodding that it was okay.  Sansa was thankful that over the years, Jon had gotten used to Aryas crass and thoughtless manner and didn’t hold it against her.  Whenever she was brought back to reality and considered others around her, she usually made right.    

Refocusing back on Sansa, Arya responded, “Yes, Sansa.  He _texted_ me when he got worried about you.  And looking at the state of you, I’m not so sure he was wrong.  When was the last time you showered?”  Arya picked as Sansa’s hair, sniffing it to emphasize her point.  

Jon stood awkwardly, shifting by her door.  He held a towel in his hands and mug of coffee.  He shrugged sheepishly towards her.  Sansa scowled at him for calling Arya, though took the towel all the same.  

Arya spoke, “Go wash your smelly ass, then meet us downstairs.”  

Sansa trudged off towards the shower and turned the knob, listening to the comforting sound of the shower spray against the tile.  She stood in the stream feeling the warm rivers of water course over her body.  Time escaped her as she heard Arya beating on the door, “Do I have to confiscate all your Bics?  Razor’s not the way you wanna go!”

Jon must have signed something to her, telling her not to joke that way because Sansa heard the one sided bicker of Arya defending her right to crack sick jokes at inappropriate times.  After that awful night when they were teenagers, Sansa would sneak off into the garage with Jon and practice sign language with him, trying to help him learn another way of communicating.  He wouldn’t always be able to write a note and she wanted him to be able to express himself.  Arya hated not knowing something that they did so it wasn’t long before she started picking up on the language too.  Soon enough, she was cracking the code and including herself.  Therefore, it came as no surprise to Sansa whatsoever that they could be arguing without her to interpret.  

Sansa heard them leave and finished showering quickly.  After a little while, she made her way downstairs and watched Jon sign to Arya that something she was holding he had gotten for Sansa.  Arya turned around with a tub of frozen yogurt in her hand and a spoon.  She looked up and stated the obvious, “So Little-dick left ya, huh?  Or you left him?”

“Does it matter?”  Sansa rolled her eyes.

“Does to you, quite a bit it seems.  Shae left you this.  Apparently, you wouldn’t wake last night.”  Arya slid a manila envelope across the table to her and said, “Go ahead and open it up, it’s just a lot of business as usual.  Baelish walking around his clubs, and a bunch of him in his car.”

Sansa looked at the clubs in the pictures, one was taken at Unveiled, his strip club.  She couldn’t fault him for that, she thought of her own private interlude.  And she reminded herself that it had been three days and no contact at all.  She felt the finality of the distance and silence.  The others were taken at The Mockingbird, which did not surprise her.  That club appeared to be his favorite, it oddly reminded her of somewhere but she couldn’t place where.  

A note was left detailing all of his activities at various times.  Sansa scrolled over the layout of his day, though her eyes stopped immediately on _11:08PM parked car on Kingsroad, three houses down from client’s address._

Arya was the first to speak about it, “He’s been creeping ya.  Want me and Jon to express your desire for some privacy?”  

Sansa was impressed.  That was probably the most polite she had ever heard Arya phrase anything.  

“Unless you don’t want privacy?”  Arya shoveled a bite of yogurt in her mouth.  

Sansa looked at the note and felt excitement bloom in her chest, he was watching her.  He still cared!  He wasn’t buried dick-deep in a stripper or off handling his many affairs without a second glance her way.  If he was watching her then why wasn’t he calling her?  Sansa looked at his coat on her coat rack and got an idea as she pulled her phone out.  She started to text him and then stopped herself.  She told herself to sound strong, impassive.  He may have been watching her, but he wasn’t reaching out to her either.  She typed, _Your stuff is still in my house._

She meant:   _I see all these reminders of you and it’s killing me, I want you, not your stuff._ Though it was a statement and she hoped it didn’t read like:   _Come get your shit._

Arya started snapping her fingers, “Hey!”  

Sansa looked back at her from her phone, her attention focused on her palm waiting to feel a vibration in reply.  She did not.  “What?”

“Are you going to go all emo-heartsick again?  Or are you gonna pull it together like the Stark that you are?!”  Arya tossed the empty yogurt pint into the trashcan to her left and flung the dirty spoon in Sansa’s sink with her right.  She stood arms wide open, waiting for a reply.  

Sansa sighed, “I’m fine.”  

“Prove it.”  Arya put her hands on her hips.  

Sansa’s sigh was deeper this time as she asked, “How would you like me to prove it to you so that you can get out of my house already?”  

Arya cracked a smile.  “You’re sounding more like her.”  

“Who?”  Sansa asked, her face scrunched in confusion.  

“My bitchy sister.  She’s a total ball-buster.”  Arya leaned in and whispered loudly as she smiled for dramatic effect.  Sansa chuckled a little--until Arya continued, “She’d never let some limp-dicked geezer fuck up her day.”  

Sansa bristled and her fists balled, “You don’t know anything about it--shut up.”  

Arya stopped immediately, her face dropping.  “Oh my god.  That’s what happened?  It was the age thing?  He dropped you for a younger model!”  

Sansa would have eviscerated her for cracking that joke, if she couldn’t tell by Arya’s tone and expression that she truly meant no insult.  Arya had clearly stereotyped Baelish into being a creepy old man who went after beautiful women, the younger the better.  “No, he’s not like that.  And he’s only thirty-four for christsakes.  He’s not exactly the Cryptkeeper.”  Sansa shook her head, “He wouldn’t ‘trade me in’-- he doesn’t even like women.”  

Arya approached her slowly, reaching her arm out to Sansa’s, “Oh.  Oh, I’m so sorry.  When did you find out about him and…”  Her voice trailed off and she gently coughed, “other _men_.”  

“Arya!”  Sansa pulled away from her touch.  “No!”  

“What?  You said he didn’t like women.  I’m trying to understand here, Sansa.”  Arya’s voice started to rise in frustration.  

Sansa sighed.  “He was into me.  Not men or women--me.  And it was just what I wanted before I knew I wanted it.  We were unstoppable.  But I fucked it up.  I pulled away from him because I--”  Sansa had a memory of childhood that Arya could understand, the two of them stood over a broken bowl as their mother spoke.  Sansa heard her mother’s voice as she repeated the words, “clearly can’t have nice things.”  

Arya smiled gently, appreciating the shared memory.  She stepped forward and said, “You can, but not all nice things come with insurance.  And it isn’t always your fault when things break.   _And_ it may have been the most beautiful _bowl_ in the whole world, but at the end of the day it’s just a fucking _bowl_ .  You need to know that no matter what, _you_ are always more important.  Keep yourself standing, Sis.”  

Sansa stood shocked at her sister’s mostly clean and profound words.  She found herself wondering if Arya had ever gone through anything like this before.  There was a lot she didn’t know about her little sister, and as they grew older, she was finding herself more and more surprised by her.  Before she could say anything, Arya closed the gap between them and hugged her tightly.  Sansa stood dumbstruck, accepting the love that surrounded her, as she heard Arya over her shoulder say, “Hey Silent-Bob, you gonna get in on this?”  

“You are so rude.”  Sansa whispered.  

Jon approached and wrapped his arms around both sisters.  Arya smiled and said, “He’s hugging us, he wouldn’t be hugging me if he was pissed at me.”  

Jon laughed a little and Sansa sighed, “Okay, okay.  Point made.”  

After Arya left, Jon asked if Sansa would be going to work or not and she shook her head.  She assured him that she was fine, but that she just wanted another day at home to get herself together.  

Sansa snooped out her window, hoping to catch a glimpse of his car, but didn’t.  She had remembered from before when he tailed her, he was very good at doing so unseen.  Though she did wonder to herself if he was still watching or if he was over his feelings for her.  He still hadn’t returned her message.  

As the day moved into night and she had checked her phone at least seventeen times, she thought of another reason to message him.  Business!  If she couldn’t get Petyr’s attention, she would settle for Littlefinger’s.  She thought about how successful their shipment had been on the seventeenth and knew that they had another coming, so she texted, _Are we still on for the 25th?_

She waited for a response until it was clear that she wouldn’t be getting one.  She and Jon sat down to dinner when her phone buzzed from an unlisted number and the message read, _He’s been watching you again today.  Stalking is serious.  You should consider relocation._

Sansa smiled.  Jon looked up and asked if Petyr had finally replied to her.  “No.  But Shae did.”  

Sansa ignored the serious warning in Shae’s message, _Is he outside right now?_

Her phone buzzed, _No he’s enroute home._

For a brief moment, Sansa thought about driving over there and demanding that he talk to her.  He clearly cared or he wouldn’t be following her two days in a row.  This had stopped being about who would be the first to fold for her and started being about whether or not he would fold at all.  She wondered if she threw herself down at his feet and apologized, professed her need to return to his side, as much as he appeared to want her, would he accept her?  

The silence from her messages told her maybe he wouldn’t.  That night, Sansa fell asleep holding her phone, waiting for a response.  She silently begged for him to have a weak moment and call her, but that moment never came.


	9. Skin to Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t supposed to stop. He wasn’t supposed to give up.

The fourth day of being without Petyr, Sansa woke up with a new resolve; to hell with him!  Sansa stood at her sliding glass door in her periwinkle robe, sipping her coffee and watching the birds.  Jon and Arya were right, she could not keep wallowing in pain and pity.  There would be no man like Baelish, and she would not ever risk a commitment like that again.  What she could do, however, was commit to herself again.  And  _ she _ wanted a new dress.  

Sansa took Jon shopping and modeled different dresses all of varying colors, cuts, and embellishments.  Jon offered thumbs up and down absently as he checked out the other women leaving the fitting rooms.  Sansa laughed at his roving eye, and then considered it.  Men liked to touch pretty women, even nice men like Jon.  Sansa missed being touched.  That wasn’t entirely true.  Sansa missed being touched by Petyr, but she worked to convince herself that any touch might do.  

She looked down at her phone again, still no response from him.  She threw a bunch of dresses in her bag and told Jon to pay at the counter while she put her regular clothes on.  As she put her phone in her pocket, she reflexively checked her phone again, still no reply.  She chastised herself.  Of course there would be no response from the last five seconds that she checked.    

_ Fuck him _ .  She told herself, knowing it was a lie.  She didn’t truly feel this strong, but she was damn well going to act like she did until she felt it.  She took Jon with her to the shoe store.  He rolled his eyes at her as she looked at her feet in the mirror.  She could feel judgement pouring off of him, “What?”  

He signed that he knew what she was up to.  She asked what he meant and he replied that she was going to go have meaningless casual sex with a stranger to feel better about herself. 

“And?”  She asked, not allowing herself to falter from her plan, even if she knew deep down that it was useless.  She would still feel empty.  Jon signed to her that she didn’t have to do this.  That she didn’t have to fall back into a pattern of behavior that never worked for her before, and definitely wouldn’t now that she felt what real love was.   

She rolled her eyes back, hiding in her denial, and scoffed, “Love?  You’re so sappy.” 

Jon insisted, asking her what else she would call what her and Petyr were.  Sansa couldn’t think of the right word, but  _ love _ was wrong.  That simple four letter word didn’t feel like enough.  It didn’t cover how she felt in his arms, taking him in.  It was deficient.  Everyone went through a break up, or lost a love.  Sansa went through more than that, she _ lost more _ than that.  This wasn’t some cute puppy-love from the movies, this was an entire life she had settled into, ripped out from under her.  

She looked down and checked her phone.  No response still.  She knew that she wounded him, pulled into herself and away from hm, and said some terribly venomous things in addition.  But he had to know that she was just fighting to win.  She didn’t mean it, not at all.  Petyr was still young, and very fit.  Sansa talked about how young and supple her skin was, but what she didn’t say was how strong and handsome he was.  Biologically speaking, he was in his prime.  And he was with her, solely and completely.  She got to snuggle up to perfection each night and benefit from his experience between the sheets.  She missed him so much.  She missed  _ them  _ so much _. _

She pulled her phone out and texted Shae,  _ Where is he now? _

_ Mockingbird _ .  The response was quick.  

She pictured him behind his desk, sitting in his office, pulling all the strings.  She smiled as she thought about how many times she sat on the edge of his desk watching him work and he would hook an arm around her leg and kiss her knee, promising her he was almost finished.  Sansa thought of how many times she would recline across the couch she helped him pick out and watch him make calls and type away on his keyboard.  She like watching him work, he was always so focused, his facial expressions so intent.  

Usually, she hoped that he was watching her, showing on some level that he cared.  But this time, she didn’t.  She thought he had cared, by following her.  But he never answered her, leaving her sitting alone in silence.  She thought that perhaps he was too hurt to ever forgive her.  And the finality of that made her desperate for acceptance from somewhere.  

She didn’t have the heart to explain to Jon that she really just wanted to be touched again,  _ wanted again. _  She needed to feel powerful, in control.  She always felt that way with a man doting on her, begging for a chance to touch her just a little more.  Petyr never begged, never asked.  He took.  And when she wouldn’t let him take, he worked for it, proved himself.  No one could ever take his place, or give her what he gave her.   She told herself to stop looking for it--settle for something else.    

The day faded away with her focusing on unimportant details like how to best accessorize her outfit or which club seemed like it would be the most fun.  Jon rolled his eyes often and Sansa powered through his judgement, convincing herself that she just needed to pick herself up by her bootstraps and fuck her way past this.  

That evening, they sat in the car outside the club, and Sansa checked her phone one last time to verify that Petyr was still at The Mockingbird.  When she was convinced that he was nowhere near, she turned to Jon and said, “Relax.  If there’s any trouble, we’ll leave.”  

She opened the car door and swung her legs out.  As she stood, she smoothed the hot pink spandex dress down over her curves.  She wore nude color pumps and her earrings were large and sparkly to steal more attention.  Her long red hair flowed down her back.  Sansa pulled the long gold chain necklace out from between her breasts and kissed the pendent.  A shotgun shell headstamp that read,  _ Kick Some Ass _ , was fashioned as a pendent by Arya.  Sansa smiled as she thought of how Christmas presents from her were the best.  She tucked it back down the front of her dress, and took a breath before walking towards the sign that said,  _ The Crag Club _ .  

Jon trailed behind her and as they approached the bouncer, Sansa wrapped her arms around Jon and started giggling into his shoulder.  He put his arm around her waist being a gentleman, putting his own discomfort aside, as he was used to the roleplay they had to get in the door.  He put on a confident smile and gripped her tighter to him.  Sometimes a bouncer would cause trouble, and insist that Jon stay out and that only pretty ladies be allowed in.  Other times they would see how glued to him she was and would just allow him to come in with her, thinking it would be easier than to have to manage a scene.  

As they slid through the door, Sansa kissed his cheek and said, “Thank you, first drink is on me.”  Jon nodded though it was clearly against his better judgement.  She knew he didn’t like what she as doing, but he was going to be there to protect her, and not only because she paid him to.  Jon headed to the end of the bar and Sansa walked over to the other end and batted her eyelashes for attractive men that walked by.            

Sansa checked her phone again and upon seeing no messages, texted Shae,  _ What is he up to now? _

_ Still at Mockingbird -- He seems to have stopped stalking you. _  Shae’s response was quick as ever.  

Sansa’s jaw tightened.  He wasn’t supposed to stop.  He wasn’t supposed to  _ give up _ .  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from tearing up.  Her dark heavy eyeliner would not allow her to bawl her eyes out.  She told herself to be happy that he stopped, if he had no intention of reconciling then he didn’t need to be leading her on by watching after her.  And she definitely didn’t want him seeing her tonight, like this.    

She was closing the text from Shae when her thumb brushed against her photos app.  A selfie she took of him holding her in his lap, grinning into her chest, popped up.  She was compelled to keep swiping, revealing more pictures.  She felt her eyes burn when she saw the pictures of herself sleeping, realizing that Petyr high-jacked her phone.  She swiped right again and felt her mouth twitch a little when she found a dick-pic she had saved from the last time she was stuck at work and they flirted about the night to come.  She put her hand on her chest to still her pounding heart as she swiped to a picture of him standing at the stove, sleeves of his sweater rolled up, as he focused on the skillet in front of him.  She bit her lip at his image, so confident and strong, so  _ hers. _

A deep voice sounded over her shoulder and into her ear, “Come here to forget him?”

She felt annoyed at the intrusion, but taking in the sight of him, a little relieved at the distraction.  She plastered on a fake smile as she flirted,  “It’s rude to look at someone’s phone, you know.”  

“So sorry.  My name is --”  He attempted to introduce himself but was cut off.  

“That won’t be necessary.”  Sansa sipped her drink and offered a naughty smile.  His hair was dirty blond and his eyes hazel.  His smile was crooked and his cologne heavy.  She appreciated how well he dressed; it demonstrated a willingness to work a little to attract some attention.  Deciding to give him a shot, she downed her drink and asked, “Do you want to kiss me?”  

The dirty blond smiled wider and leaned in, rubbing his lips against hers.  It was clumsy, too eager, and too firm.  She sighed into his mouth and nudged him away from her lips.  He took the subtle hint and placed a hand on her hip waiting for her to decline him.  She didn’t.  He leaned in and kissed up her neck.  She closed her eyes and tried to pretend it was Petyr’s lips on her neck, but could not.  

She gave herself a mental shake, thinking perhaps it was simply her surroundings.  The lights were bright and the music was loud, and she had just been looking at her phone too.  She told herself to focus.  She turned into him and put her hand on his chest, feeling him through his shirt.  His chest was underwhelming.  It lacked the bumps and divots that Petyr’s did.  This blond might of been younger, but he did not condition himself as Petyr had.  Sansa knew she could flirt with him some more, and slowly build to the inevitable.  Or she could just cut to the chase.  She turned her head and spoke into his ear, “You want to get out of here?”

He looked back at her incredulously and was quick to agree.  He suggested they go out the back door to avoid the crowd.  As they walked across the club towards the back, he slid his hand down to grip her ass.  She thought she would like that, but she found it annoying.  She turned her head to make sure Jon saw her.  He rose from his seat and followed behind.  

When they opened the door and stepped outside, Sansa screeched to a halt.  A prickling sensation rolled over her, as her body registered his presence.  _  Petyr. _  He was outside waiting for her, leaning back against the trunk of a limousine, hands in his pockets.  His eyes turned steely on his blank, expressionless face.  Two men she had never met before stood with him, one on either side.  The blond, stood next to her, asking why she stopped.  Jon flanked her other side, hand on the hilt of his gun.  

Petyr spoke evenly, “That’s a nice dress.”  

Sansa was speechless, staring at him.  He looked so strong and stable, in front of her.  She felt nervous and excited standing before him,  _ finally. _  She smoothed her hand over the material of her dress, “You like it?”  

“Mm.”  He offered a small subdued smile, though made no movement towards her.  Her body responded to the hidden warmth in his voice and she felt herself lean forward, pulled toward him.  She dug her feet into the ground and tried to remind herself that it had only been four days, not an eternity.  She had not forgotten how his voice sounded, why was she allowing herself to be mesmerized by it now?  Because she missed it with all of her being.  And everything inside of her was pulling towards him.    

The blond kept talking, trying to figure out what was going on, why his date was stalled in the alley-way.  Sansa glared at him to shut up and said, “Leave.”  When he didn’t get the message, Sansa gave Jon a look and he walked over to the blond, cuffing him across the face.  She knew that Jon wasn’t a fan of needless violence to innocent bystanders, but the man had a better chance of surviving if he would shut up.  The blond turned to run away back into the club when Sansa saw Petyr’s head motion towards him.  Both of the men caught him and held him in place.  

Petyr kept his hands in his pockets and sighed before he asked, “Did you fuck him?”  

To a casual observer, Petyr was calm.  But Sansa knew his hands were in his pockets because he was digging his fingers into his thighs to control himself.  If she were still in the mood to argue she would make a quip about it not being his business anymore.  But Sansa wasn’t in the mood to fight, she wanted everything she lost back.  So she told the truth, “No.”

Sansa was vaguely aware of their audience, but was so entranced by the grey-green pools of his eyes, searching her for honesty, that she didn’t care.  Against her better judgement, she was  _ completely  _ honest, “I didn’t.  But I was going to.”  

“ _ Why? _ ”  His voice broke and he cleared his throat.  

She trembled, hating the distance between them.  She always spoke easier in his arms.  “Because I wanted to be wanted.”  

His chuckle was soft and sick.  “I’ve always wanted you.”  

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stay together as she heard his pain.  “You used to.  Before I hurt you.  And now you don’t anymore.”  

He rubbed his forehead, “That’s why I’m in a back alley stopping you from fucking someone else.  Because I don’t want you.”  

A swarm of butterflies flew across her stomach at the realization of what he was telling her.  There was a glimmer of hope after all the silence and desolace she had felt.  Sansa needed to explain.  She told herself that the more honest and direct she was, the better the chance of reconciliation.  “You never answered my messages.”

“I didn’t know what to say, Sansa.  You told me to come get my stuff and then made sure that business was still business.  They weren’t exactly apologies, or declarations.”  He was up off of the trunk now, and had taken a step towards her, impassioned by his response. 

Feeling the gravitational pull, she took a step forward too as she shook her head, “I know.  I didn’t know what to say.  I crossed the line.  I said some things--” 

He interrupted, taking another step forward as he waved his hand, “About those things--”  

She interrupted, “Lies.  None of it was true.”  

He ran his hand through his hair and then put it back in his pocket.  The steel chain from his wallet glinted in the light from the street lamp and it distracted her for a moment.   _ Was that new?   _ She wondered what else she had missed in the short eternity they had been apart.  He looked at his feet as he said.  “I  _ am _ older than you.”  

Sansa put her hand on her hip and made a disgusted face, “Thirty-four is hardly ancient.  You are strong and hard, and flexible, and more than all that, you keep up.”  She smiled flirtatiously as she took another step forward, “You give me a run for my money, anyway.”   

He smiled shyly, feeling her compliment.  And then he shrugged his shoulders, “Why did you pull away from me?”  

Sansa was a little distracted from the moans and exasperated groans from the blond being held in place by Petyr’s goons.  She found herself annoyed by how he was ruining their private moment, “Couldn’t someone gag him or something?”

Petyr nodded to one of his men who promptly punched the blond in the stomach and shoved a bawled up handkerchief in his mouth.  Petyr looked back at Sansa expectantly, “Tell me?”  

She pulled her hair behind her ears and exhaled uncomfortably as she admitted, “Because I got insecure.  I didn’t like you being disappointed in me.”  She crossed her arms defensively and allowed the fingers of her right hand to trace little trails on her left arm to soothe herself as she continued, “I made it bigger than it was and I hid within myself so you wouldn’t see how immature I was being.”  Her smile was uncertain as she took another step forward, “But it seems as though you did anyway or you wouldn’t have said what you said.”  

Petyr looked back at her for the first time, noticing how much the gap between them was slowly closing.  Sansa couldn’t tell if he liked that or not, but was pleased to see that it didn’t stop him from opening up either.  “I shouldn’t have.  I just wanted to hurt you for rejecting me, keeping me away.”  

They both stood still staring, two arms lengths away from each other.  They swayed in their gravitational pull, leaning in each other’s direction, though in that moment, restraining the urge to give in.  Sansa spoke.  “Why did you break the silence?  Was it just to stop me from fucking someone else?”

Petyr smiled deeply.  It was the first time throughout their entire conversation that she had seen him this happy.  His eyes lit up and he reached back, pulling a manila envelope off the top of the trunk.  He extended the envelope to her from where he stood and she almost couldn’t reach it, but managed to.  She opened it carefully and was astonished to see pictures of Shae taking pictures of Petyr.  Sansa felt a wave of panic over being caught.  She tried to control her voice, present as confident as she said, “I can explain.”  

Before she could speak he raised a hand, gesturing for her to let him speak.  “I’m flattered.”  

Sansa looked at him incredulously.  She had been worried that he would be offended and angry with her.  She had not considered that he would feel  _ flattered _ by it.  He explained, “After nothing but silence from you, save for a couple of quick messages that I could not respond to, I had started to feel like you didn’t care.  Like maybe the things you said were true.  But then when I discovered this, I knew you wanted me back.”  

Sansa smiled and looked down feeling caught, “You followed me too.”  

He smiled, “Of course I did.”  

“Oh, ‘of course’ you did, huh?”  She smiled coyly and stepped closer to him, holding the envelope up to him.  

He smiled all the way up to his eyes as he grasped the envelope.  He started to pull it back when he met her resistance.  She wasn’t letting go.  Their eye contact was unbreakable as they grinned back at each other.  Sansa gripped firmly and Petyr tugged harder.  Sansa flew forward and he caught her in his open arms.  It was what she hoped would happen, and sighed as she smelled his cologne and felt his skin against her face.  

She heard his sounds of pleasure as he burrowed his face into her hair and wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back.  They stood like that for a long time, finding each other again.  Finally, Petyr whispered in her ear, “Did you kiss him?”  

Sansa went rigid in his arms and reluctantly nodded her head, fearful that he would tear himself from her.  He didn’t.  He brought his face back to hers, sharing his mossy green eyes with her blues.  And then he tilted his head, closed his eyes and kissed her slowly and deeply.  It was everything she remembered from their familiar kiss, mixed with longing.  She felt his palm come up and cradle the back of her head as he thread his fingers through her hair.  She felt wetness pool in her panties and her nipples try to cut through the tight dress in response.  She pressed against him and was not ignorant to his growing desire for her as well.  

As he trailed kisses down her neck, he asked, “Did he touch you?”  

She gasped with the pleasure of his attention, her body on fire with need, “Yes.” 

He never picked his head up, continuing to kiss, letting his lips move against her skin as he asked, “Where did he touch you?”

She ran her fingers over the back of his head and pulled him up to face her, “My ass.  He grabbed my ass--that’s all.”  

He held her gaze as they held their bodies tightly together.  “Which hand?”  

Her eyebrows furrowed thinking it was an odd question to ask.  She had to think about it for a second, “I think it was his right?”  

Petyr kissed her again, this time more familiar than longing.  She melted into his lips and felt in a daze when he pulled away smiling, “ _ Mine _ .”  

She grinned back against his lips, “And who do you belong to?”  

He ground himself against her as he growled, “ _ You _ .”  

She chuckled as his grip on her tightened and his rubbing became more vigorous.  She inhaled his scent and lost any coherent thought under his touch.  She barely heard him speak to his men as he nuzzled into her neck, “Break his hand.”  

All of a sudden, she heard a sick crunching sound and a shrill scream from behind the improvised gag.  Her head shot up to look at Jon.  He stood next to the goons with an exasperated look on his face and rubbed his forehead in annoyance.  

Sansa turned back to Petyr, who searched her face, waiting to see what she would do.  She wondered if he thought she might recoil.  If he did, he clearly didn’t know her yet.  Moved by his display of power and desire for her, Sansa smiled wide as she leaned further into him and whispered, “How do you know they picked the right one?”  

Petyr chuckled and kissed the side of her face before saying, “Best to be on the safe side.”  He picked his head up from her and spoke matter-of-factly, “Other one too.”  

Sansa heard another crunch and shrill scream and she couldn’t keep herself from nibbling Petyr’s ear.  She listened to his breathing change and slid the hand she had on his back, down to his thigh, slowly raking her fingers up as she whispered, “Touch me.”   

Petyr guided her to limo door, and shouted, “Load him in the trunk.”  

Sansa looked up to see Jon standing there, directionless and slightly annoyed.  He no doubt, had a headache from listening to all the screaming.  “Go home, Jon, get some Advil or something.”

He sighed and cocked and eyebrow at her.  “Really.”  She looked back at Petyr’s ravenous gaze, “Everything’s alright now.”  Jon cracked a grin and shook his head as he turned away.  

Sansa scooted in the limo and Petyr followed.  The vehicle shook a little as the blond struggled to avoid the trunk.  She heard one loud thud and then all of a sudden, it got very quiet and Sansa heard the trunk snap shut.  

For a moment she lost courage, all the lust they had been radiating outside faded away as she realized this was not going to be just another passionate sex session.  They were going to reconnect.  And no it wasn’t after years and miles apart, nothing as dramatic as that.  But it was the first time they would be together after feeling so apart.  

He placed a chaste kiss on the back of her hand, clearly noticing the change in mood as well.  Sansa took a breath and smiled at his touch, “Where are we going?”  

“Does it matter?”  He asked gently.  

She had meant for the night, but she got the impression that he meant more than that.  She remembered the awful way in which he asked her to move in with him and she closed her eyes, shaking the memory away, “No, not really.  Just keep touching me.”  

He laced his fingers into hers and gave her a gentle squeeze as he brought his other hand up to her face, “As long as you’ll let me.”  

She closed her eyes again, accepting his message.  If said differently, it could have been a slap to remind her that she pushed him away once.  However, in the warmth and intimacy of that moment, it was a promise to always want her.  

She turned and kissed his palm, lazily fluttering her eyelids, “We need to undress each other.”  

He chuckled, “We do?”  

At first, she didn’t think he was putting up resistance, just responding to her directness.  “Yes.  I need to see you.”  

“Nothing’s changed.”  He smiled.  

She wondered why he was suddenly being so shy with her.  Then she realized just how affected he must have been by her awful words.  She had spent the last four days not knowing how to cope with losing a piece of herself that she had only just discovered.  It was the piece of her that worked better with someone else, and liked being apart of something bigger than herself.  She knew he must be feeling the same, and more.  The more, being a sense of inadequacy-- something she fostered in him on that horrible morning.  

Anger surged through her.  She worked to not show it on her face, as it wasn’t meant for him.  It was entirely inward.  She usually loved how her words affected people, leaving them broken at her feet.  She never saw how long the effects lasted as she was always walking away, grinding her heels in the rubble as she left.  Now she hated how powerful her words could be.  

Sansa pulled out of his hand and he shot her a concerned look.  She smiled reassuringly and took her heels off, sliding off the seat.  She knelt between his knees, determined to fix this.  Sansa reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt, “Let me be the judge of that.”  

He looked down at her as she pulled his shirt open and tugged his white cotton tank top out of his waist band.  He watched as she slid her palms over the the muscles of his stomach.  Before leaning down to kiss various bumps and grooves she spoke, “Hmm, this is better than I remember it.”  

He groaned as she gently dug her fingers into his pecs and he leaned forward pulling his shirt off his arms and his tank over his head.  She caught his mouth as he leaned forward.  Normally she would have nibbled his lips and massaged his tongue suggestively, but that wasn’t what this was about.  She reigned herself in and offered their familiar kiss instead.  This was about assurance.    

Caught in her kiss, Petyr rested his arms on his knees.  As their kiss gently ended, he smiled down at her as he picked mindlessly at the shoulder straps of her dress, “You make it sound like we were apart forever.”   

Suddenly insecurity grew inside her, did he not feel that way too?  For a moment she tried to remember what Shae had said he had been doing while she was away.  He stayed at his house all day and then he continued to work.  Maybe it was just her being dramatic.  She was unable to hide the concern on her face, sitting between his knees, feeling so vulnerable.  

He grasped her chin, and searched her for an answer, “What’s wrong?”  

She looked away, gathering the strength to ask, “Did it not feel like forever to you?”  

She heard him breathe in as his tone softened even further, “I brought a limo on the off chance that you would leave with me tonight.  I didn’t think I’d be able to make it to a bed without needing to be with you.”  

She smiled away from him in his grasp.  

“Will you look at me?”  He asked and chuckled at her as he let go of her face.  

She turned her head and smiled warmly at him.  He whispered, “Will you let me take you home?”  

Before she finished nodding in agreement, he was on the intercom telling the driver his address.  He reached down to her and pulled her into his lap.  She reclined against him, letting her fingers play with his fine chest hair.  She liked feeling his chest rise and fall under her palm as well as the gentle circles his thumb made against her thigh as he held her to him.  

After what felt like only minutes, though it must have been much longer, the car pulled to a stop.  Petyr gave the driver instructions on where to drop off the man in the trunk and then he lead her out, shirtless.  Sansa chuckled at what the neighborhood might think.  Then she realized that it was Littlefinger, and smart people didn’t dare to think anything about Littlefinger.  They walked through the door and he instantly grasped the straps of her dress.  “Can I take this off of you?  I don’t want to see it anymore.”  

She tilted her head in curiosity, “I thought you said you liked it?”  

“I do, very much.”  He ran a hand over her hip, “It fits you perfectly, reminding me of all your smooth curves.  You should definitely wear it again.”  

She chuckled, “Okay…”  

He gently pulled the straps down and the top of the dress followed, exposing her black lace bra.  He kissed the top of her breast as he continued to gently push the dress down over the round of her ass, tracing his thumb over the top her matching thong.  He looked her up and down as he said, “I want to see you wear it,  _ for me. _  Not someone else.”  

Sansa closed her eyes and lowered her head, knowing what he meant.  Before she could say anything, she saw him drop his shirts to the floor, kick off his shoes and undo his belt.  For a moment they stood in the entryway, in their underwear looking back at the other.  Their gaze was penetrating, looking for any changes, differences.  Apparently satisfied with his findings, Petyr grasped her hand and they walked through the house.  

As they passed the kitchen Sansa noticed that the counter was littered with empty bottles of various kinds of alcohol.  They both drank together regularly, but it was not a big enough part of their life that she would consider it a problem.  They often had wine with dinner, or a late night drink on the rocks, and always when they were out together.  Never before had she seen so much alcohol in his house at once.  He stopped when he saw her gaping at the counter.  He let go of her hand so that he could grasp her face.  He coaxed her to turn away from the kitchen and back to him, “Four days was a long time.  And when the scotch didn’t make things better, I tried the whiskey.”

Sansa held his hands against her face and leaned forward, resting her forehead on his.  “Did any one of them work better than the others?”  

“Tequila.  That was the one that finally let me sleep.  But when I woke, you still weren’t there.  I went to work and barely remembered being there.”  He confessed as he leaned in, kissing her.

“Mm, we need a bed.  I need to feel your skin against mine.”  She breathed.  He didn’t respond, only nudged her toward the stairs.  

Once in his bedroom, she stopped at the foot of his bed and unhooked her bra, letting the garment fall down her arms and to the floor.  He looked down at her bare chest, and placed his hands on her hips to stop her from pressing against him.  She wanted to crash into him, feel him against her chest.  He seemed to want to look at her, all of her.  Sansa reached under his grasp and continued to strip naked.  He let go of her to reach for his own boxers, tugging them down.  

Sansa let her eyes drift lower to his throbbing erection.  She wanted to hold him inside of her.  They wrapped themselves around each other, toppling over onto the bed.  Their palms traced over the planes of their bodies as they purred into each rub, taking joy in each other’s pleasure.   Petyr slid his hand down the small of her back and over the curve of her ass, dipping his fingers inside her.  She exhaled at the sensation of him pulling her wetness out and painting her opening with the natural lubrication.  

She covered his mouth with hers as she reached down and guided him to her slippery entrance.  He groaned in her mouth, at the sensation of her soft skin against his sensitive tip.  He slid his hand back up over her round cheek and pulled her towards him as he pushed into her.  Their lips tore away as their mutual moan encouraged each other.  They pressed so tightly together that she felt little waves of pleasure build as her nub rubbed against the muscles of his pelvis.  He reached to snake his hand around, seemingly just then remembering to rub her and she stopped him.  He looked at her in question.  She breathed, “I’ll still come this way.  Just keep holding me.  Let me hold you.”  

He wrapped his arms around her, gripping her tightly against him.  She spread her legs wider, pushing her bundle of nerves against him harder, as they rocked into each other.  She panted next to his ear and he kissed her shoulder.  As she rocked into him, pushing herself further and further against him, she felt the sensation building and she gripped the muscles in his back for stability as she lost herself to the rippling feeling that stole all the gravity from the room.  She felt him grin into her neck as he flipped them over and drove himself down into her in one long deep stroke.  

She brought her legs up around him, holding him close to her as she let the aftershocks of her orgasm massage him.  She wrapped an arm around his neck as she kissed his cheek and let the other hand grope the side of his ribcage.  His thrusts were long and slow as he pulled her hand away, intertwining their fingers.  He pushed their palms back into her pile of hair on the bed, squeezing as he tipped over his edge.  Sansa ran her other hand over all the flexed muscles in his back and tightened her legs around him as she cradled him through his climax.  

Slowly they eased the tightness of their grip on each other and he rolled off next to her.  He placed his head on her chest and she curled her legs into him, lifting one to rest on his. Petyr reached his hand down and stroked her thigh gently as he said, “I don’t want to be apart from you again.”  

She hummed happily, “I agree.”  

He kissed her chest gently and continued, “I don’t want to discuss where we will be at the end of the night anymore, either.”  

“I also agree…”  Sansa started running her fingers through his hair as she listened to see where he was going with this.

“Move in with me?  Now.  I don’t care where.”  He pulled his face up to look her in the eye.  

She considered his words and the passion in them and she kissed his forehead as she smiled back, “Well, your place does have the better shower.”

He blinked at her for a moment and then broke out into a huge grin as he gripped her sides, tickling her ribs, “Oh for the shower, huh?”  

In between giggles, she gasped, “And your wine cellar.” 

Petyr showered her in kisses and Sansa purred into each one, finally appreciating what they shared, unabashed.  


	10. Lessons to Teach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa emphasized her point, “Did you learn your lesson? Or do you need a rougher one?”

Sansa rolled her eyes at all the pubescent boys eyeing and cat calling her as she walked down the crowded dormitory hall.  She heard a yelp from behind her and looked over her shoulder to see Jon catching one of the snot-nosed brats by the arm.  Sansa looked at Jon in question.  He pointed at her butt and then back at the kid, indicating that the boy was trying to grab or slap her there.  

“Did you try to touch my ass?”  She cocked an eyebrow at the kid.  

He looked her wide-eyed and yelped at Jon, “Come on man!  It’s her own fault, she shouldn’t be up in the boys dorm.”  

Sansa smirked, “And if I tell him to break your arm, it’ll be your own fault, you shouldn’t be trying to touch a woman without her permission.”  

Jon tightened his grip and the kid yelped louder, sweat pouring from his hairline.  Sansa emphasised her point, “Did you learn your lesson?  Or do you need a rougher one?”  

The kid nodded his head vigorously and Jon let go of his arm.  He rubbed it and backed away.  Sansa turned to the captive audience that cluttered the hallway.  “Where’s room 308?”  A dozen hands pointed down the hall further.  

 _What color are they?_  Her phone buzzed with Petyr’s text.  They had been flirting all morning and somehow got on the subject of what underwear she was wearing.  

She typed her response, _Who says that they are any one color?_

Sansa approached the door they had pointed to and read the label, _308 Stark & Hodor _.  Sansa covered the peephole with her index finger and rapped on the door with the knuckles of her other hand.  The door opened and a very large teenager, both in height and weight, peered out at her.  He didn’t say anything, just looked at her.  No doubt, he was shocked to see a woman in the dorm.  She heard Bran’s lazy voice behind him, “Is that the pizza?”  

Before his roommate could say anything, Sansa held up a fifty dollar bill and whispered.  “Tell him yes and then say you gotta run to the bathroom.”  

He looked back at her quietly registering what she was offering.  He reached up grabbing the cash and pocketed it quick.  He turned his face back into the dorm room and nodded vigorously.  

“Awesome, I’m fucking starved!”  Bran sounded more lively.  

And then the big man threw his hand back, clutching his ass and screamed, “Hold the door!”

Sansa startled at his yell, but listened to Bran wrestling behind the door as he screamed, “Jesus, you got the shits, _again_?  Lay off the fucking ‘shrooms.”    

As she saw his roommate run out of the doorway and down the hall, she came face to face with her little brother.  He was thinner than she remembered from the last time she had seen him, at Easter.  He wore pajama pants and no shirt.  His sunglasses hid most of his face but Sansa could still see bruising creeping out from underneath the rims--Arya had gotten him good.  His hair was shaved on either side of his head, though a long braided rat tail was left.  Facial hair sprinkled unevenly over his face.  “Fuck.”  

“Fuck is right, you little shit.”  Sansa pushed past him into his room.  Jon followed behind.

“Hey Jon, still following my sister around like a stray dog?”  Bran smirked.  

Jon crossed his arms and leaned against the loft bed that Sansa hoped was Bran’s; that Hodor kid could crush him to death if the loft ever broke.  Sansa sighed, “I’m going to cut to the chase.  You’re sixteen and you got a tattoo, an awful one.”  

Bran flexed his scrawny arm muscle to show her his tattoo.  It was a raven with three eyes on it.  “You don’t like it?”  

Sansa averted her gaze from the offending tattoo and said, “No Bran, I don’t.  You are permanently marking your body and clearly high while you do it.  It’s got _three_ eyes…it’s absurd.”

“It’s supposed to.  I got it like that on purpose.”  Bran’s lips pursed.  She couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses but she guessed he was probably glaring at her.  

She shook her head, “No one gets a tattoo like that on purpose.  Between the drugs and impulsive moves like this, you’re becoming the family-fuck up.  Knock it off and pull yourself together.”  

“Fuck you, Sansa.”  Bran grabbed a brownie that she suspected had more than fudge in it and flopped into a recliner, kicking his feet up.  She decided not to address the brownie, reminding herself that pot was better than hardcore drugs.    

Sansa was wondering why he had a recliner in his room, and also where the second bed was.  She was about to ask when she noticed a pillow behind his back and a blanket to on the floor to the right.  Her phone buzzed, _Are they the ones with sailboats?  Or the argyle ones with the lace trim?_

Sansa would have been annoyed at the interruption but his persistence excited her, _Neither.  You should have paid attention this morning._

Sansa looked up from her phone at Bran, willfully ignoring his choice to sleep in a recliner instead of the school issued bed, “Since you don’t seem to understand Arya’s methods, I’m going to do something you will understand.  If you don’t pull it together, I’m cutting you off.”  

Bran shook his head and whined, “Robb said you would pull this shit on me.”

Sansa’s blood went cold as she realized how involved Robb was becoming, “Oh, he did?  That’s funny, did he also tell you how he called _me,_ begging me to straighten you out?”   

“Fuck you.”  Bran shot back.  Without any warning, Jon stepped forward and slapped Bran across the face, causing his sunglasses to fly off.  Sansa laughed at the shiners over his eyes, seeing them in all their glory at various stages of healing.  

Jon looked over at Sansa apologizing, and telling her that it was not right for Bran to be talking to her like that after all she had done for him.  

Sansa looked back at Bran, translating as Bran had never bothered to learn how to communicate with Jon, “He says you should show some respect.  Think about what I said.”  

Before she could hear him whine a petulant response, she turned and left.  Her phone buzzed, _If you remember, I was paying very close attention to that area this morning._

Sansa snickered and typed back, _Then you’ll remember that I never got to put any on before we left._

Instantly he replied, _Show me._

She grinned as she walked down the stairs to the lobby, about to respond.  But she was interrupted when she felt a tap on her shoulder and looked up from her phone.  Jon pointed down to the main floor.  Waiting at the bottom of the staircase was the spitting image of her mother.  She felt her heart squeeze in her chest as she picked up speed to meet the youngest Stark, “Rickon!”

His face lit up as she wrapped him in a warm hug.  When she pulled away, she noticed him glance to either side quickly, clear his throat and straighten his clothes out.  She smiled as she realized he was growing too embarrassed for public displays of affection by his big sister.  He schooled his face to be serious and said, “I go by Ricky now.”  

Sansa cocked an eyebrow at him, “Really?”  

Rickon reached around her, meeting Jon’s hand in their secret handshake and said, “Hey cuz.”  

Jon smiled warmly back at him and asked why the name change.  Rickon shrugged and said, “Bran says I’ll get my ass kicked less if I blend in more.”  

Jon instantly asked him to point out which kid was beating him up and Rickon shook his head and said, “It only happened a couple of times, I’m fine.  It hasn’t happened in months.”  

Jon sighed in acquiescence and as Sansa thought of Bran the muscles in her arms tightened.  She controlled her features, “Bran gives you this advice, but have you seen _his_ face lately?”

Rickon smiled and looked down trying to hide it.  Sansa chuckled, “Don’t listen to Bran.  You’re a Stark.  We don’t blend in.  You’ll just be disappointed if you try, _Mr. M.I.T._ ”

He jammed one hand in his pocket and rubbed the back of his neck with the other, “It’s not that big of a deal.  M.I.T., I mean.”  

Sansa grinned proudly, “It’s a very big deal.  It’s an opportunity for so much more.”  

“That’s what Robb says too.”  Rickon smiled back at her.  

She felt herself prickle at the mention of her older brother.  She worked to appear calm and unaffected.  Sansa wrapped an arm around Rickon and they walked towards the main door leisurely.  “Robb talks to you?”

“Yeah, he calls sometimes.”  Rickon looked up at her unsuspectingly as they stepped outside.  

She felt the sunshine warm her dark blue dress as she lead him to go lean against the granite wall that surrounded the entry steps.  She tried to make her voice light and playful, “What does he say?”  

Rickon sighed and his mouth moved nervously as if he wasn’t sure whether or not to say it.  She definitely wanted to know now.  He took a breath as he said, “How deficient you are.”  

She blinked in surprise, “ _Deficient_ , huh?”  She knew that Rickon was practically a genius, but hearing him speak sometimes still shocked her.  A wave of guilt rolled over her at not being more involved, “Look Rickon, I’m sorry I haven’t--”

He cut her off, looking heated himself, “And do you want to know what I tell him, Sansa?”  

Surprised again by the fire in his voice, she waited for his response.  His eyes narrowed as he said, “I ask how he would know from so far away.”

Sansa felt tears bite at her eyes.  Her chest puffed in pride as she hugged him, “You are too wise.”

He smiled back at her and, after hearing her phone buzz a bunch of times, asked, “Don’t you have to take that?”  

Sansa looked down at her phone, it was an alarm she had set so that she wouldn’t get to wrapped up in scolding Bran that she forgot about meeting a client at the gallery.  “No, it’s an alarm I set, I have to get back to work.  I’m sorry I couldn’t visit longer.”  

Rickon shook his head, “Don’t worry about it.  I’m just happy I got to see you.”  

Sansa kissed his forehead and turned to walk away, feeling another wave of guilt over leaving him.  She told herself she should reschedule the client, and stay with Rickon.  However, as she walked towards the car she thought of how innocent and perfect he was--everything she wasn’t.  Suddenly, she couldn’t get to the car fast enough, throwing the keys to Jon to drive.  She worried that in the short time she spent with him, she had soiled him somehow.  

As she opened the door, she heard him call her name.  She looked up as Rickon advanced forward, “I just wanted to make sure you knew that he doesn’t hate you--just himself.  He’s not half the man you are.  And it kills him.”  

Sansa blinked, completely sideswiped by his last minute insight, “How can you only be twelve?”  

He rolled his eyes back at her and she blew him a kiss as she loaded into the car.  She waved back at him through the window as they pulled away.  

 _You haven’t answered me.  Is everything okay with the boys?_  Sansa read Petyr’s text and closed her eyes breathing in.  She replayed the conversations she’d had with her brothers and texted back, _50/50._

As she hit send, she looked further up in their texting history and read, _Show me_ again.  She smiled and looked over at Jon behind the wheel.  Feeling a smidgen of modesty without Petyr there to cloud her with desire, she warned, “Keep your eyes on the road, and I’m sorry in advance for the flash.”  

Jon would have asked what she was talking about but his hands were glued to the steering wheel.  After she was certain he was going to stare straight ahead, she spread her legs and shoved her phone under her skirt, and snapped a photo.  

She then critiqued the photo, cropping out some of her thigh and feeling thankful she had been able to keep up on grooming that morning despite Petyr’s _attention._  She hit send and instantly felt his response in her palm, _I want you._

She grinned wickedly, _Too bad.  Gotta work._

Sansa closed her eyes in content, as she thought about how wonderful things had been going with Petyr since their reunion.  His place became _their_ place as they integrated her things smoothly.  Each change made was mutually agreed upon, neither giving up anything they didn’t want to.  She had naturally expected some disagreements, but realized quickly that there wouldn’t be any problem when Petyr was the one to suggest that Jon move into his-- _their_ guesthouse.  

She opened her eyes as they arrived at Stark-Naked and instantly sent Jon back out to Highgarden for coffee--something she could drink all hours of the day.  She was walking in the back door, checking e-mails on her phone when she came across one from Samwell Tarly, her lawyer.  It stated that she had been awarded Clegane’s holdings and to stop by the office at some point to sign the paperwork.  

Sansa lifted her head, smiling triumphantly at the news when she saw Daario Naharis through the glass storefront.  He was walking towards her front door, and her face dropped.  She texted Petyr quickly, _Daario is here._

He replied, _I’m on my way_

Sansa regretted texted Petyr for a millisecond.  If Daario was approaching her separately from Petyr, there had to be a reason and she wanted to learn in.  Hastily she typed, _Hang back, I want to see what he wants._

The front door opened and he stepped through, his crooked-toothed smile was the first thing over the threshold.  Sansa glanced down at her phone and read in her peripheral vision, _Fine.  I don’t like this._

Sansa plastered a smile on her face, “Daario.”

He stood by the door and gestured openly with his hand as he said, “Ah, you remembered my name.  I must have made an impression.”

Sansa fought to keep from rolling her eyes at him.  “What brings you here?”

“I have an appointment.”  He strode across the lobby towards her.  

“Ah, you’re the client interested in the Klimts.   Why the deception?”  Sansa kept the smile on her face and reminded herself to make it reach her eyes for believability.  

He stood before her and looked around them, distracted by the paintings, as he spoke, “Why does anyone deceive?  Because they don’t want someone knowing something.  I wanted our meeting to be private.”    

She followed his gaze to a Gustav Klimt painting, “And what do you have to say to me that you felt a need for privacy?”  

“You’re fucking Littlefinger, so you obviously know that I’m not with the Sons of the Harpy as I pose to be.  But in fact, I oversee the Second Sons.”  He turned his gaze to her, his bright light blue eyes zeroing on her.  

She knew that he was examining her, looking for any inconsistency.  She placed doubt, “You assume that just because I’m ‘fucking Littlefinger’ that he tells me about his business.  Why do you think that he would ever tell something like that to one of his women?”   

He chuckled and placed his hands in his coat pockets as he responded, “Because you aren’t just any woman.  Word is that you took Clegane’s place.”  

Sansa bristled.  Petyr had tried to keep that from him for a reason and it made her uncomfortable to discover that he found out anyway.  She remembered that she had seen him leaving Drogo and Danny and didn’t wonder long as to how he might have found out.  She felt her stomach turn realizing that he may have known the whole time.    

Daario watched her silent reaction and his grin widened, “I figured you didn’t say anything because you had your man with you.  No harm, no foul.  We can keep our relationship quiet.  It’s best if he doesn’t know.”  

“Our relationship?”  Sansa cocked an eyebrow and tried to hide the disgust from her face.  

“Mm, I am willing to offer you the same deal as Baelish, except that I’ll offer you an additional twenty percent cut.  You’ll never get better than that, and you’ll be making the most dough in the city.”  He poked at a sculpture on the display table as he spoke.  

“What’s in it for you?”  She asked skeptically.  

“Diversification.”  He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and polished part of it.  “I don’t want all my business dependent upon Baelish.”  

Sansa remembered Petyr saying that Daario was ‘putting his fingers in many pies’ and she now knew what he meant.  She crossed her arms over her chest, “Understandable.  However, you should consider who you propose these things to.”  

He smiled at her as he put his handkerchief back, “My choice was deliberate.”  

“If you know that I’m in bed with Baelish, why would you choose me of all people, to offer this to?  Why would you think that I would accept a deal when I know you’re screwing him an extra twenty percent?”  She felt indignant and couldn’t hide it.  

Daario sighed lazily and gestured to her left hand as he explained, “You aren’t exactly married to the guy, and you seem smart enough to know a good deal when you’re offered one.”

“What does marriage have to do with anything?”  Sansa felt her face heat at the suggestion that her closeness to Petyr was weaker because they were not officially married.  

“All I’m saying is that you could choose business over pleasure a little more freely.”  He turned and walked towards the door.  Gripping the handle, he turned back offering his crooked tooth smile, “Think about it.”  

Sansa stood in place, watching him through the window, as a car picked him up and drove away.  It was then that she felt a palm slide over her stomach as the other reached around and gripped her shoulder.  She knew instantly that it was Petyr from the way he held her and his cologne.  She realized that he must have come in from the back door and hid out of sight, listening to as much as he could.  He hugged her to him from the side as she asked, “How much did you hear?”  

“We’re not married and you’ll pick business over pleasure because of it.”  He spoke evenly over her shoulder.  

She nodded and then added, “He’s undercutting you by twenty percent.”

She felt him fume by her ear and she placed her hand over his on her stomach as she rested her head against his.  It was a moment before either of them spoke.  Finally, Petyr kissed her cheek and said, “I can drop him immediately, cut him out.  Or I can confront him and demand a lower price too.”  

Sansa listened, nodding absently as she replayed the interaction in her head.  She felt such annoyance at the implication that she was less connected to Petyr simply because she wasn’t his wife.  It wasn’t until Petyr asked her again that she realized he was asking her a question.  

“Huh?”  She scrunched her face.  

He smiled, “What would you do?”  

She thought for a moment and then shook her head and said, “I would do neither.”

“Neither?”  Petyr asked smiling.  

Sansa considered Daario’s smug look and thought of the kid in the dorms and his entitled grab at what didn’t belong to him.  Her mouth hardened as she responded, “I would teach him a lesson.”  

Petyr pulled away a little, searching her face.  He smiled back at her and she could feel the stirrings of his arousal against her leg.  “A lesson?  What would you have me do?”  

She smiled warmly and kissed him deeply, “Surprise me.  You’re so very creative.”  

He squeezed her tighter as his grin deepened.  “I can’t wait to show you.”  

Sansa smiled back and dug out her phone, pulling up her bank application.  She started punching in authorization codes and swiping screens as she thought about lessons that needed to be taught.  

Petyr peered over her shoulder, “What are you doing?”  

“Cutting my brother’s purse strings.”  She spoke as she focused on her phone.  Then she looked up and smiled wide as she offered him her good news, “Oh, and Tarly won me the estate!”  

Petyr grinned and kissed her cheek, “He was a great choice for an attorney.  With a baby-face like his, no one would dare question the credibility of the claim.  Your instincts were right.”  

“Mm, I’m keeping him.  We may have use for him down the road.”  Sansa purred in his arms.


	11. Include Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He’s your brother, obviously I wouldn’t kill him.” He rolled his eyes.

Petyr pulled the car into a parking space, and Sansa looked around, registering her surroundings.  She focused on the store ahead of them as she asked, “Why are we parked in front of a lingerie store?”   

He chuckled and said, “I did say that I would replace your nighties.”  

“That was months ago.”  She pointed out as they climbed out of the car.  

“Better late than never?”  he tossed back playfully as he walked over and slid his arm around her waist.  

Sansa allowed herself to be lead through the store door.  She surveyed the room, and paused for a moment in front of a rack of crotchless panties, thumbing through them.  

“Mm, I like the way you think.”  Petyr flirted.

She smiled back at him, teasing, “I had a pair that became crotchless once…”  

He smirked and reached over, caressing her ass subtly so that no one would see.  She felt herself tingle under his touch.  A slight blush rose above her neckline upon seeing a sales associate approach.  Sansa wiggled a little, hoping he would catch the signal to drop his hand and look casual.  He didn’t let go, though he did get the signal.  “Mm.  Oh look, we’ve got help coming.”  And he slid his fingertips under the curve of her ass further.  She had never before been so grateful for the rough material of her jeans to impede his efforts.  

A beautiful brunette with a tiny waist stood before them.  Her name tag was clipped off to the side of her unbuttoned polo shirt, dwarfed by the size of her breasts in contrast.  Her lips were a cherry red and glistened with an abundance of gloss.  Sansa looked up at the woman’s eyes, bolded by the jet black eyeliner and mascara.  She seemed friendly enough, even if her appearance was a bit attention-seeking.  

“Is there anything I can help you two with?”  She smiled at them in welcome, “I'm Becca.”

Sansa was about to decline the assistance when she heard Petyr’s voice.  He was staring at her name tag and smiling as he said, “So you are.”  

Becca giggled a little and nodded.  Sansa started to feel uncomfortable.  He appeared to be more than cordial.  She recognized the tone in his voice, it was one that he had used with her often.  She felt his grip on her tighten as he stared at  _ Becca. _  Becoming irritable, Sansa pulled away from him as she started poking through a nearby rack.  “These are nice,” she said to disrupt things.   

Petyr sauntered over to where she was looking, with Becca along as well.  “I  _ do  _ like those.”  He pointed toward Sansa, but spoke to Becca.  His voice was smooth and deep as he talked to the girl with too much gloss.  Sansa felt a buzz in her purse and looked down,  _ I’m not allowed to talk to my brothers now? _

Sansa rubbed her temples in annoyance, and checked quickly to see if Petyr had seen her.  She didn’t always appreciate how well he could read her.  Instead of feeling lucky that he hadn’t noticed, she felt a twinge of frustration that it was because he was too busy chatting with  _ Becca. _

Sansa looked at a couple of all lace teddies as she heard Becca giggle and say, “We have a new one in stock, super cute.  It’s covered in cupcakes.”  

Petyr chuckled, “Cupcakes?”  

Sansa stared down at the clothing, telling herself that she was being ridiculous.  Petyr wasn’t doing anything wrong.  He was being polite to a sales clerk.  She scolded herself,  _ Stop being insecure, there’s no reason for it.  _

“Mmhmm, I like to bake.”  Becca bit her lip and Sansa felt a triumphant surge at the thought that the girl was going to have lipstick and gloss stuck on her teeth.   

And then she instantly felt her insides plummet a little when she heard Petyr reply, “Mm, Becca the Baker.  I _ like _ that.”  He rubbed his goatee and offered a bawdy grin, “Maybe you could show me?”  

Sansa felt herself alarm, wondering if she were stuck in a nightmare.  Petyr,  _ her  _ Petyr wouldn’t act like this.  Well he would, but only with her.  And “Becca the Baker?”  Was  _ that _ really working?  Sansa felt even more irritated that it took next to no effort for him to succeed with this chick.  Becca ran off to get the cupcake-covered lounge wear and Petyr closed in on Sansa, placing both hands on her hips.  “You look great in lace.”  

_ Too bad you won’t get to see it for a long time,  _ Sansa thought to herself.  She didn’t respond, just kept sliding hangers back and forth.  She flirted with the idea of just leaving the store completely, but didn’t want to be overdramatic.  He kissed her shoulder warmly and commented, “I’ve never been a huge fan of animal print, but I’d bend you over a table in that.”  

Normally Sansa would have snickered, and playfully rubbed him back.  But now she just felt annoyed by his flirtation.  She didn’t respond, and was saved from his noticing when Becca appeared again, carrying the famed cupcake-covered nightie.  She held it out to Petyr and as he clutched the hanger, Sansa noticed their hands touch and linger.  

That was it!  Ridiculous or not, she didn’t care.  A cold fury set inside her as all of her muscles flexed and she cracked her neck.  She barely heard Petyr speak to Becca, “It’s nice, but it’s not really our style.”  

_ Our style? _  Sansa fumed.  She yanked a bunch of random lingerie pieces off of the rack and made herself slow her gait to a determined walk towards the fitting rooms.  She got in the small room and closed the door behind her, taking a deep breath to calm herself down.  She turned away from the door to face the bench as she warred within herself.  

One side of her spoke calmly, reminding her that Petyr wouldn’t act this way without a reason.  It told her that he worshiped her and only her.  She must be making something out of nothing.  The other side of her told her that she was not dumb or blind and that she knew what she saw.  She thought of all their time apart and their reunion and anger coursed through her as she asked how he could want someone else.  

She looked at the nighties she hung on the hook and rolled her eyes thinking that lingerie was the last thing on her mind right then.  And then the hurt side of her took over for a moment as she decided to pick some out for him to buy and then never see on her.  She knew she should try them on before tossing them on the counter so she pulled her shirt off and dropped it on the bench.  She reached back and unhooked her bra, and as she slid it off she heard a quiet clicking sound.  She turned around to see Petyr with a finger over his lips as he snuck into the room with her.  

“What are you doing?”  She whisper-yelled at him.  

He grinned wide as he stared at her naked breasts, “Helping.”  

She wanted to cross her arms over her chest to take away his view, but something inside of herself told her not to let him see her uncomfortable.  She always hated it whenever someone saw she was affected by anything they could say or do.  She held her hands to her sides as she whispered, “Get out.  They will know you are in here.”  

“No, I told her that I was going to get my wallet out of the car.  And if we turn like this,”  He placed his hands on her hips, pushing his pelvis against hers, as he rotated them so that she faced the door with him behind her.  “You’ll block my feet and I’ll get to see you model for me.  No one will ever know.”  

Sansa rolled her eyes.  Petyr slid his hands up and cupped both of her breasts, squeezing them as he rubbed against her backside for friction.  Before she could stop herself, she responded, “Oh I’m sure Becca will notice you’re gone.” 

Petyr lifted his mouth from her shoulder, mid-kiss.  “What?”  

Instantly embarrassed that she said it outloud, Sansa started squirming out of his touch as she said, “Nothing.”  

Petyr tightened his grip on her breasts as he pulled her back into him.  He smiled into her ear, “Are you  _ jealous _ ?”  

His voice was wicked as he unbuttoned her jeans from behind.  She swatted at his hands and whispered “No.  What are you doing?!”  

“Seeing your feathers ruffle is quite a turn on.”  He drove a hand down beneath her underwear and massaged her slit.  She squirmed against it, trying to avoid the pleasure she knew was coming.    

He bit her ear gently before saying, “It’s completely unfounded, but it’s hot none the less.”  

She pulled her ear away from him, trying to be uninterested, but she couldn’t stop the sudden moan that escaped her as he slid against her nub.  “Shh.”  He hushed her, “We don’t want  _ Becca the Baker _ to hear you, do we?”  

Sansa stifled herself, failing miserably at pulling away from him.  She wanted to be mad and pry him from her on principle, but the pleasure he pulled between her legs and the lewd voice he sounded in her ear was too much to resist. 

He whispered reason into her ears as he worked her nub.  “I’ve worked so hard to get you, and keep you.  You’re all mine now.  And I only want more of you.”  With his free hand, Petyr pulled her hair over one shoulder exposing her neck.  He breathed in the scent of her hair, audibly, and then gently bit the back of her neck, sending shivers down her body.  

She felt her nipples constrict as she heard him come back to her ear, “I want your body, your heart, your thoughts, your--”  He paused as he pulled his hand out of her pants and turned her back against the wall, lowering himself to a crouch as he gripped the waistband of her open pants along with her underwear and pulled them down to her knees.  He looked hungrily at her sex and before covering her with his mouth, breathed, “ _ everything.”  _

Sansa melted back against the wall as she looked down at the top of his head.  He licked her in circles, flicking her nub at just the right times.  A motion caught her eyes and she looked up to see herself, naked down to her knees with Baelish crouched, devouring her.  Excitement rolled through her as she saw his head move in the full-length mirror and felt each corresponding lick against her.  She watched her hand reach down and run her fingers through his hair, as her breathing became more shallow, her build up was only encouraged by the view before her.  

It was then that she heard bouncy Becca on the other side of the door, “Knock knock!  Is there anything I can get you?”  

Sansa felt him smile against her as he licked, and she gripped his hair tighter, trying to pull him off of her.  It was no good, he would not budge, his licking becoming more vigorous and determined.  She felt the first indication of pleasure to come as she tried to keep her voice from trembling, “No, th-thank you.”  

“Oh, are you sure?  It’s no trouble at all!”  She persisted.  

Trying to get her to leave Sansa blurted out, “Can you grab me this in blue?”  And she held one of the nighties over the door.  Her arm weakening as she felt another small wave of pleasure build up.  

Becca grabbed it from her, “Sure thing!”  

Sansa could hear her walk away and she dropped her hand to the top of the door and gripped, her knuckles going white.  Her other hand continued to run through Petyr’s hair, occasionally gripping as she felt the hot wet whirl of his tongue massaging right where she needed him to.  And she inhaled sharply at the burst of pleasure that rippled through her.  He came up quickly covering her mouth with his.  She tasted herself and felt pride bloom in her chest at the way she claimed him on such a primal level, with her taste and scent.  

She felt him unbuckle his pants and unzip his fly between them.  She sucked her wetness from his lip as he pulled away.  “If we want to keep this private, you need to stand in front.”  He shifted her in front of him again while he got behind her, rubbing his erection against her ass.  

She felt euphoric from her orgasm and just nodded in response, unable to make words.  He reached down with one hand, sliding his fingers into her from behind, and pushing his boxers and pants down just enough to free his cock and grip it in his other hand.  Sansa watched him behind her in the mirror.  Petyr noticed the object of her attention and he smiled in the mirror, “Aren’t we naughty?”  

She smiled and felt a little tingle between her legs again, as her pulsing slowed.  He pulled his fingers out of her and rubbed the wetness over his cock as they watched in the mirror.  “Quietly fucking in a fitting room--maybe I should make you loud for getting so jealous.”  

She felt her heart race and excitement tingle in her all over again.  She licked her lips, watching as he guided himself under her cheeks to her opening.  She felt and watched him push slowly into her.  Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, and she stared at where they were linked, her insides stretching.  “So tight.”  He purred into her ear and then turned his head to meet her eyes in the mirror with a warm smile.  

Petyr gripped her hips and pulled her back into him as he slowly lowered them to the bench behind him.  He reclined as far as he could and put his hands on her ass guiding her gently up and down.  She watched herself shift in his lap, rubbing her ass against his thighs each time she slid back.  Her hair hung long and loose and she ran her fingers through it to get it out of her face.  She watched herself grind back on him and for a moment she thought she looked like a stripper, which only excited her more.  

Petyr ran a hand over her lower back and then gathered a handful of hair.  He pulled it gently, causing her to arch.  He leaned forward as she leaned back and he whispered, “Do you want to know why I was so interested in Becca the Baker?”  

Sansa watched herself quietly bounce on top of him as he held her hair.  She nodded as much as his grip would allow.  He released her hair, and started fiddling in his pocket as his other hand remained on her hip guiding their movements.  She watched in the mirror as he held up a small packet of white powder.  

Unable to think clearly with all the pleasure she felt between her legs, she furrowed her eyebrows at him and whispered, “Coke?”  

“Mmhmm”  He shoved it back in his pocket as he whispered, “She’s one of Drogo’s-- _ sales _ .”  

Sansa was about to ask why he was buying coke off of one of Drogo’s girls when a blue nighty was tossed over the door, the hanger hooked to the top.  “Here you go!”  

Sansa tried to compose herself to speak clearly, while Petyr continued to shift inside her.  “Th-Thank you.”  

Petyr grinned devilishly as he reached a hand around and slid his fingers over her slippery lips.  She watched him in the mirror and her eyes fluttered at the sensation.  Sansa listened to her walk away.  Petyr must have heard her too because he watched himself lean forward and whisper in her ear, “Look at us.”  

Sansa kept her eyes open, watching his hand working between her legs as she grinded on his lap, both their pants partially down their legs in their haste to join.  He sat up completely, she felt all of his abdominal muscles flex as his cock pulled against her insides.  “Look at  _ me _ , buried inside you.  Only you.”  

She felt another small wave of pleasure build under his hand as his cock grew inside her.  Suddenly, she heard Becca’s voice again, “How’s everything?  Finding a lot you like?  Should I tell your husband to break out the credit card?” She laughed.  

Sansa didn’t have the strength to tell her that Petyr wasn’t her husband as all of the air was sucked out of her lungs at the same time she found her edge and jumped over it.  She squeaked out a, “Yes!”  And then a heavy breath before Petyr’s hand clamped over her mouth to keep her quiet.  He drove his forehead into her shoulder, nostrils flaring, jaw shut tight as he exploded, gushing inside of her with each pulse.  

“Great!  Let me grab a couple more I think you’ll love and bring them right back.”  Becca, the motivated sales associate, ran at the opportunity.  

Sansa detached herself from him, standing up on trembling legs.  Petyr slid himself back in his boxers and zipped up his pants as he watched her pull her pants back up.  They stared at each other, grinning in euphoria.  She turned and straddled his legs as he sat, leaning down she kissed him deeply.  Her breasts hung as they kissed and Petyr cupped them again before handing her shirt to her.  

She pulled away and finished dressing as she whispered, “Next time, tell me when you are mixing business with pleasure.”  

Petyr stood up and captured her in his arms, “I should have.  But I have to say, it turned out to be so much more fun that I didn’t.”  

Sansa rolled her eyes and opened the door to leave, coming face to face with Becca.  Petyr grinned from behind her and pulled out his wallet, “Found it!”  

Becca stood gaping, “Oh...um, great!”  

Petyr handed her a couple hundred dollars cash and said, “We’ll take it all, I don’t need a receipt.”  

Becca ran to grab a bag and Sansa sighed as he smiled back her, “What?  I told you I’d replace them all.”  

They walked out, hands filled with bags and naughty grins on their faces as Petyr set the bags in the trunk.  Sansa turned to him and crossed her arms in mock frustration, “Did you just fuck your way out of any consequence for acting like a man-whore?  Don’t think I didn’t see you grope each other’s hands.”  

Petyr laughed as he closed the trunk, “How else do you think she passed me the coke?”  

Sansa sighed and hopped in the car, waiting for him to get in too.  As he started the engine, she asked, “Why were you buying drugs anyway?  And why do you feel the need to flirt when you do?”  

Petyr grinned back at her and said, “I don’t  _ flirt _ when I conduct business.   _ Unless _ it’s a street sale and that’s the angle the dealer is working.  You saw her face--that’s how she gets customers.  If I wanted to pose as a customer, I needed to play the game.”  

Sansa raised an eyebrow at him, “And you’ve randomly decided to start a coke habit?”  

“No--though I’m not against the occasional recreational use.”  Petyr smirked as he pulled out of the parking spot.  

Sansa instantly thought about the times that she’d been high in her life and how much it improved the sensations she felt while fucking.  His grins did that to her--made her think about fucking.  She was about to say something about it when Petyr’s eyes traveled her body  indecently as he said, “It heightens so many sensations--if you ever wanted to try it.”

Sansa thought about the little baggy he carried and bit her lip, knowing just how much it could improve things.  She knew the help it gave a terrible partner, and felt an excited flutter in her belly thinking about how it might enhance an already amazing lover.  

Petyr returned to more serious tones as he looked in the rearview mirror.  “I needed to check up on Drogo.  We contracted for sales in addition to distribution, over a month ago now.  I need to make sure that his sales are up to par. Especially with what I have planned for Daario.” 

Sansa was curious but didn't want to ask and ruin the surprise. She reached over, pulling the little baggy out of his pocket and looked at the powder inside of it, “And are they?”  

“He’s overcharging, but that’s to be expected.  He’ll shave a little extra off the top.  Makes sense, especially with a baby on the way.  As long as he doesn’t go overboard.”  Petyr pulled out onto the main road, merging into traffic carefully as he explained.  

For a quick second Sansa thought about how foolish and dangerous it was for Petyr to be buying drugs off the street himself, “Couldn’t Varys have done this?”  

Petyr grinned, “Varys wasn’t going lingerie shopping--we were.”  

“And we have so much more to lose than Varys if we get busted by the cops.”  Sansa pressed.  

Petyr smiled, “It would be a  _ foolish _ risk to take, except that you are forgetting about one thing.”  

She looked up at him, waiting for his response.  

“I own the cops.”  Petyr smirked, giving her a sidelong glance.  

Sansa found herself smiling at the truth in what he said as she played with the baggy in her hands until she felt her phone buzz.  She looked down and read,  _ You’re being immature about this. _

Sansa sighed at Robb’s text message, annoyed.  He had needed to be taught a lesson, and he was not taking it well.  And blowing up her phone in the process.    

Petyr reached over and rubbed her thigh with one hand while he drove with the other.  “Your brother again?”  

She typed a response while nodding her head,  _ No, you broke our agreement. _

“Is there anything I can do?”  Petyr asked as he flipped the turn signal, reaching his fingers from the steering wheel so that he didn’t have to let go of her with his other hand.  

“No.”  Sansa looked down at the response,  _ You said you would continue to finance me. _

Petyr squeezed her thigh and she looked up, “What?”  

“I wish you would let me be more helpful.”  Petyr sighed.  

Sansa gripped his hand over hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze as she smiled, “He’s my brother, as much as he bothers me, I don’t want him dead.”  She typed,  _ And you said you’d let me handle things when you signed your rights over. _

Petyr brought his hand back, about to place it on the wheel when Sansa caught it and threaded her fingers through his, pulling it back to her lap as she asked, “Why are you getting huffy?”  

“Huffy?”  He cocked an eyebrow.  

She chuckled, “Fine--offended.”  

“He’s your brother, obviously I wouldn’t kill him.”  He rolled his eyes.  

She brought their joined hands up, kissing the back of his, and smiled flirtatiously, “I don’t want his hands broken either.”  

He glanced quickly at her, “That was different and you know it.”  

_ You are handling things.  I’m countries away, how could I be handling anything right now?!   _ Her phone buzzed.  

Sansa’s memory flashed to the night in the alley, Petyr’s warm hands on her body, his face buried in her neck as he ordered his men to break someone’s hand.  She felt a tingle roll through her and a drip in her panties at the memory.  “I do.  And it still affects me.”  She smiled back at him. 

“Mm.”  Petyr smiled absently, obviously enjoying his own memory of those same events.  “I would handle things different with family.”  

“What family?  My family?”  Sansa asked as she typed,  _ You’ve been calling the boys, meddling.  You broke your word.  You’re cut off.   _

Petyr grunted, annoyed and reflexively started to pull his hand away.  Sansa wouldn’t let go of it.  “Why are you upset?”  

“I don’t like being reminded that I am not a part of your family.”  He spoke so blatantly that she blinked, momentarily stunned by his honesty.  

Sansa ignored the next two times her phone vibrated as she tucked it away in her purse and she turned her full attention to Petyr.  She watched him focus on the road ahead of them and she rubbed her thumbs over his knuckles.  “We’ve never talked about family before.  It’s never come up.”  

Petyr switched lanes, his face remaining focused on the road ahead, “It’s coming up now.”

“Are you asking me where you stand with me?”  She grinned skeptically at him.  “Because you know what you mean to me.  I feel like I made that clear.”  

He smiled reflexively as he appeared to be remembering times that he felt her feelings for him strongly.  He then refocused as his face became more serious, “Do I have a place in your family or not?”  

Sansa started brushing her fingers up and down his arm as she pulled their gripped hands more into her lap, while she spoke, “I feel like I have two families.  I have them, and they are messy, and a lot of work.  And then I have you.  It’s just us and it’s simple and fun.  I don’t want to ruin what we have by having to deal with what they are.”  

“Nothing will ruin what we have.”  His voice so strong and decided as his jaw tightened in determination.  She instantly felt a stir of excitement under her skirt in response to the raw power he exuded in that one statement.    

She kissed the back of his hand again, this time gently biting him.  He groaned at the feel of her teeth pinching his skin.  Her voice became more sensual as she spoke, “I trust you to make sure of that.”  She inhaled deeply, and focused, only barely registering that she was placing a small level of trust in someone, “I promise that I’ll accept help with them when I need it.  I just don’t right now.  I have this under control.”  

Petyr’s face set in resignation, “I’ll hold you to that promise.”  

Sansa smiled warmly, hoping her happiness would brighten him, “Good.  Besides, I really need you for other things right now.”  

Petyr cocked an eyebrow as he hit the turn signal again, not letting go of her hand.  

“Clegane’s properties.  All these businesses and not a clue what to do with them.”  Sansa looked to Petyr for his guidance and hoped that the subject change would save her from having to further examine the concept of family and where a romantic relationship fit in all of that.  

She listened carefully to all of his suggestions, respecting his experience in business.  She wanted to absorb everything he was teaching her as she trusted his advice to be the best possible.  And judging by the dimples on his face and how alive his eyes looked, he enjoyed sharing his knowledge with her.  

“Which leaves The Doghouse.”  Sansa cringed, drowning in memories of the Hound groping and fucking her there.  “I want to get rid of it.” 

Petyr glanced over to her, “I think you are being hasty.  That club turns a solid profit.”  

“And I can afford to pass on one profitable property.”  Sansa insisted.  

They pulled up to a red light, and Petyr searched her face before saying, “I’ll buy it from you.”  

Sansa’s eyes widened in surprise, “Why would you want it?  There are plenty of other profitable clubs.”  

Petyr turned his attention back to the road and accelerated.  “I’m attached to it.” 

“Attached?”  Sansa balked.  “How?  In all the time we’ve been together, we’ve never gone there once.”  

“Because it has a lot of bad memories for you.”  He acknowledged sympathetically.  

She opened her mouth to respond and then closed it realizing that she didn’t have anything to say.  She knew he was attuned to her, but it always took her off guard when he vocalized his observations of her openly between them.  

He continued, pulling into their driveway.  “ _ I _ on the other hand, have good memories there.  That’s where I saw the most beautiful woman in the world.  That memory will be burned into my brain until I die.  I will not allow that place to become something else or fall into disrepair.  I would like to preserve it.”  

Sansa looked through the windshield, distracted, “You are making business decisions based on sentimentality?  Isn’t that risky?” 

“Not if you know the person you are doing business with.  Lessens the chances of getting screwed--”  He reached over and kissed her deeply, smiling at her surprised moan into his mouth.  He pulled away, “Although, I wouldn’t mind getting screwed by you-- _ again _ .”

Sansa smiled as she thought about his offer.  She had never considered  _ selling _ him anything.  The idea of it felt so foreign.  She would rather just give it to him.  As they got out of the car Sansa vaguely considered how odd it was to  _ give away _ a business.


	12. Mergers & Acquisitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you fucking kidding me?” She breathed.

“I’m not saying that you shouldn’t be pissed.  I’m just saying, sales chicks always flirt, it’s part of their job.”  Arya’s voice judged through the phone.  

Sansa sighed as she pulled into the parking spot, “Did you do it or not?”  

“I’m doing it right now.”  Arya sighed.  And then she sighed again.  And again.  And once more.  “Alright, done.”  

Sansa rolled her eyes, realizing that it wasn’t sighing she was hearing but instead the sound of air escaping.  As they spoke, Arya was slashing Bouncy Becca’s tires.  “Are you sure you got the right car?”  

“Of course I got the right car, shitty silver Neon with a thong dangling off of the rearview mirror, license plate BKAB0Y.  I watched her get in and out of it on her lunch break.”  Arya assured.

“She has a thong dangling in the rearview?”  Sansa asked disgusted.  

“Yep.”  Arya sighed.  “I’m pretty sure it’s her boyfriend’s car, which is even sadder really.  If her man drives a Neon, no wonder she’s peddling drugs for extra cash.”

Sansa pulled her gun case out of her car, thinking about how true that statement was.  “Thank you.”  

“No problem sis, so you want me to leave a note or stick around to do any... _ more _ ?”  Arya asked.  

Sansa beeped her car locked as she walked, glancing back at Jon to make sure he was following.  “No, I think the tires were enough.  After all, she was just doing her job.  And I don’t want this getting back to Petyr somehow.”  

Arya raised her voice in confusion, “Wait, what?  If you don’t leave a signature or something how will you teach her or him a lesson?”  

Sansa smiled at how cute her little sister was, “Arya, I’m not teaching anyone a lesson.  Neither of them did anything wrong--officially.  She flirted with Petyr and I didn’t like it.  She’s not going to like it when she gets out of work and discovers her tires slashed.  That’s all.”  

“Tit for tat?”  Arya asked, and Sansa could hear her smiling through the phone.  

“Pretty much.”  Sansa walked through the door that Jon held open.  

“So it’s none of my business, but there’s something I’ve been curious about…”  Arya’s voice sounded strange on the phone. 

Sansa felt apprehensive at that lead in and proceeded with caution, “Yes?”  

“I thought you were cutting off Bran.  I was surprised to hear it was Robb.”  Arya said.  

“You don’t approve?”  Sansa felt herself bristle.  

“Not really.”  Before Sansa could respond, Arya continued, “I mean, I’m glad you cut Robb off.  I honestly thought you had done that awhile ago.”  

“Then what?”  Sansa and Jon stalled in the lobby, pacing while she listened to Arya.  

“It’s just that Bran needs some serious fucking help.  Way more than Robb--he’s an adult, he’s his own problem.  But Bran’s gonna keep gettin fucked up if he can afford it.”  Arya shared her concerns, rare vulnerability seeping out in her tone.  

Realization hit Sansa, “You think I’m still giving Bran money!  I’m not.  I have paid up his tuition, and I have all of his bills sent to me: car, phone, insurance etc.  But he doesn’t have any cash,  _ that _ stopped.”  

“Oh.”  Sansa could hear Arya sigh in relief.  “Okay.  Well, yeah.  I mean, I knew you had it under control.  It’s just you asked me to help out more while you’ve been busy, so you know.  I just wanted to make sure.”  

Sansa chuckled at how awkward Arya sounded on the phone and started walking past the lobby, knowing that the conversation was nearing a close.  The muffled sound of shooting started to grow as Sansa and Jon neared the range.  

Arya heard the background noise because she screeched, “Are you at the range without me?!”  

Sansa smirked and responded, “Yes Arya, I don’t only go with you.  I’ve got to take my opportunities to go when I can.”

“Baelish still doesn’t know you go to the range?”  Arya sounded amused.

“No, and it’s been hard to sneak away too now that we live together.  He doesn’t have a clue that I know anything about guns.”  Sansa snickered into the phone, proud of herself for keeping a harmless secret from her ever attentive boyfriend.  

“Uhh…”  Arya sounded uncomfortable.

“What?”  Sansa stopped dead.  

“That’s not entirely true.”  Arya admitted.  Sansa paused, not saying anything and Arya continued, “When he stopped by Wolfswood, remember how I told you about that?”  

“You did.”  Sansa’s voice turned steely.  

There as a brief pause before Arya’s voice sounded quiet, “I may have told him that we grew up with guns, and your aim is perfect.”  

“You what?”  Sansa hissed through pursed lips and squinted eyes.  

Arya found courage as her voice raised, “Well, why in the hell were you keeping it secret anyway?  What’s the big fucking deal?!  It’s awfully strange to be keeping something so stupid as this a secret from someone.  Just-fucking-sayn’!”  

Sansa deflated at her sister’s exuberant dialect, “I just wanted one thing to keep all to myself.  I am falling into him hard, and I just wanted one little piece of myself all to me.  Can’t you understand that?”  

There was another pause on the phone and then Arya said, “I think I get it.  Like when I sneak off to go get my ass bleached?”  

The phone was dead air.  And then there was an eruption of laughter from both sisters.  “Fuck you, Arya.”  

As they calmed down, Arya became a little more serious, “I get ya.  I don’t let anyone know that I go to church every Sunday.”  

Sansa’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “ _ You _ go to church?  I didn’t know you were  _ religious.” _

“Oh, I’m not.  But I like the ceremony of it all.  Everything is set.  And everyone knows just what to do.  It’s  _ peaceful.   _ That and it’s the only quiet enough place that I can do my Sudoku puzzles.”  Arya explained.  

Sansa rolled her eyes at the Sudoku, but felt connected to her sister even further in their secrets.  “Thank  _ God _ for that.  Arya, he may know that I know my guns--but you didn’t tell him about the range though did you?”  

“Fuck no.  He paid me money to tell him info about you, I picked what would be juicy and harmless enough to get the cash but kept the important bits to myself.  It’s stupid to tell a man where the woman he’s stalking is going to be.”  

Sansa exhaled, feeling more relaxed.  “He wasn’t  _ stalking _ me.”  

“He sure as shit was.  But I know you.  You’re sick and twisted, like the rest of us--just in your own way.  I knew you liked it.”  Arya spoke smugly over the phone.  

Jon had been quietly standing off to the side waiting to get into the range, though his impatience was starting to show as he shifted his weight more and more.  Finally, he held up his watch and pointed at the time.  

“Jon’s pointing at his watch, telling me we are running out of time here, I gotta let you go.”  Sansa started saying goodbye.  

“What?!  You took Jon with you?!  I’m so fucking jealous.  And who still uses a watch?  Why isn’t he using his phone like a normal person?”  Arya whined over the phone.  

“Bye, Arya.”  Sansa insisted with a sigh.  

“Fine.  Bye.”  Sansa heard Arya’s motorcycle rev before the phone disconnected.

Sansa walked past Jon as he held the door open for her.  They walked past the different stations, ears pierced by the loud shots fired.  Each gun and bullet had their own song to sing as they discharged.  She walked down to her favorite booth, pleased to note the space next to it was empty, allowing for Jon to fire by her side.  There was the part of her that simply enjoyed being near her family when engaging in a shared activity.  But more than that, she liked firing next to Arya and Jon so that she could attune herself to their style.  

Arya shot sideways because she saw it in a thousand movies and thought it was cool.  She knew that it was impractical because it wasn’t a very powerful stance, and her aim sucked because she was more susceptible to kick-back only having one arm to absorb the shock.  But she didn’t care, and truth be told, Sansa had never known her to actually be in a shootout for it to matter anyway.  To counter the force of the pull, Arya built up her arm muscles, usually through fist fights.    

Jon on the other hand always gripped with two hands, and fired minimally.  He was much more calculated, choosing only to fire when he was sure of the shot.  He didn’t care how he looked when he was shooting, only that the target was hit.  Sansa appreciated that about Jon.  Arya was always fun, but Jon had a stability that Sansa needed most days.  

She thought of Petyr and what he gave her.  He was a combination of both that she had never known before, fucking her in public places during drug deals and also being the guy who went with her to Bran’s school, actually wanting to be apart of her family.  Robb had not wanted to be a part of their family and he was _ blood _ .  Sansa thought about the differences between Petyr and Robb, one waiting at the door to be let in, and the other practically jumping out a window to escape.     

_ Fuck.  Your head’s everywhere.  Pull it together Stark. _  She told herself and set her case on the counter.     

Jon smiled wide as he set his own case down on the table, oblivious to the many thoughts in her head.  He pointed at the glasses and earmuffs and Sansa put them on, deciding not to tell him that her and Arya practice without them a lot.  Because of the noise, Sansa decided not to bother trying to talk over it.  Instead, she signed her communication to him.  She told him that they only had about twenty minutes before Petyr would notice that she was gone.  

Jon nodded and turned, firing.  Sansa turned to her target, taking aim when she saw something on her target.  It looked like an orange post it note stuck to the head of the outline.  That was definitely out of the ordinary.  Sansa pushed the button to bring the target closer.  Jon glanced up, no doubt finding it odd that she would be pulling her outline forward so soon.  

As the note came into focus she read,  _ 9:00 Storm’s End Docks, --P.   _

A grin spread across her face as she said, “Fuck.”  No one could hear her, but Jon read her.  He asked if the message was bad.  She clicked the button to move her outline back and then freed her hands to tell him that nothing was wrong, just that Petyr had discovered her secret.  

Jon reasoned that it was bound to happen at some point and Sansa smiled back that she knew.  She took aim and emptied her clip into the little orange note.  She looked over to see Jon looking at her target and laughing, enjoying her mild frustration. She turned to him and told him to go ahead and laugh, and that they had more time to work with now that Petyr knew where they were.  He nodded smiling and started reloading.  

Sansa sent Petyr a quick text,  _ I got your message.   _

_ Splendid.   _ His response was quick.  She knew he must have been waiting for her to message him.  She pictured his smug grin and couldn’t contain her smile.  

They continued shooting until it got closer to nine, Sansa thinking about what her next secret activity could be.  At first, she liked having something to herself, but now after seeing what it was like to be discovered, she decided she liked being caught.  She felt pleasure knowing she held his interest, that he still paid attention, watching and studying.  She knew she was important to him, but it was moments like these that she truly felt it.  The sex was great, but the way he obsessed over her was intoxicating.  

They packed up and Jon brought her to Storm’s End, circling the parking lot, not finding Petyr’s car.  She felt her phone buzz,  _ We can’t be seen.  Have Jon drop you off on the shore line to the left of the Main office.  I’ll be under that pier.   _

Sansa passed the instructions on to Jon, who drove them over to the secluded hiding spot.  She got out of the car, looking all around before waving Jon off when she saw Petyr leaning up against a beam, hands in his pockets smiling back at her in the darkness.  

As she approached, she whispered, “How cloak and dagger.”  

He pulled his hands out, capturing her in them as he kissed the side of her head and said, “You don’t have to whisper.  They are far enough away that they couldn’t hear, and they wouldn’t be able to even if we were right next to them with all that equipment running.”  

Sansa watched big cranes move shipping containers into neat rows and realized the truth of what he was saying.  There was a lot going on up there, they would have idea that her and Petyr were standing in the dark, watching them.  She kept watching as she asked him, “How long have you known?”  

He kept his arm around her, smiling as he kissed the side of her head again, “You don’t want to know.”  

She sighed, “I asked.”  

“Before you moved in.”  He minimized it.  

She stirred in his grip, “What?”  She turned and faced him directly, “How long before?”  

He lowered his head and looked up at her with a sheepish smile, “The night you met Daario--you went with your sister.”  

Sansa crossed her arms, and narrowed her eyes at him, “That long?”  

Petyr rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and admitted, “You were pulling away from me, and I had to know why.  When I saw it wasn’t some other guy, I left it alone.  I figured you wanted something to yourself.”  

Sansa felt stunned at how he seemed to be able to read her mind.  And then she suddenly got a thought, “Do you have things you keep to yourself?”  

“Loads.”  He chuckled.  

She reflexively slapped at his chest with one hand and before she could with her other, he caught her arm.  He tugged her to him, wrapping his other arm around her waist as he kissed her deeply.  She felt herself melt between her legs, pressed against him.  He pulled away and said in a husky voice, “If you don’t know something, it’s only because I haven’t thought to mention it.  Otherwise, I share everything with  _ you. _ ”  

Sansa blinked, feeling the weight of his words.  He slowly released her and she straightened herself out.  She thought about it for a moment and then asked, “If you thought I wanted a secret to myself, then why would you show me that you know now?”  

“Because I have some business with you tonight and I felt it necessary to show my hand, be completely honest.  Are you mad?”  He asked, eyebrow cocked.  

Now she was more curious than anything, but flirted all the same.  “No.  I actually liked being caught.  I’ll have to think of more harmless secrets for you to catch me in.”

“Challenge accepted,” he smiled back at her, taking her hand in his.  

She allowed him to kiss her hand as she asked, “Now, what is this  _ business  _ you have with me?  Our shipment isn’t until the twenty-seventh.  It’s only the twenty-fifth--Daario’s shipment.”  

Petyr grinned back at her, “You remembered.”  

She smiled, “Of course.  Now, what is going on?”  

He chuckled nervously.   _ Was he nervous? _  Sansa wondered, starting to feel nervous herself.  He closed his eyes and exhaled, “I feel very seriously about this, so I have two different pitches prepared to give you.  One is more-- _ professional _ , handling logistics, and the other is more  _ emotional _ .  Which would you like me to present?”  

Sansa’s eyebrows furrowed, thinking that he wasn’t making much sense.  She thought back to their discussion about him wanting the Doghouse and started to see what he might mean about sentimentality and rationality.  She remembered how strange it felt to discuss The Doghouse and decided to keep whatever business he had to discuss as professional as possible.  “Give me the logistics.”  

He nodded and then pulled a folded packet of paper out of his coat.  As he held it he said, “I put this together to respect your independence, and to prove to you that I don’t want anything more from you than  _ you _ .  Everything can be reworked, or we can throw this out completely.”  

She took it from his hand, not understanding a word he was saying until she unfolded the papers and read in bold at the top,  _ Prenuptial Agreement. _

“Are you fucking kidding me?”  She breathed.  

He spoke fast, “It says that you keep everything you came with, me too.  But that anything we accrue together is to be shared 50/50-equal partnership in  _ everything _ .”

She felt her face flush, insulted.  She stared at it, drowning in her emotions, only catching a few words here and there.  She read  _ extramarital affairs _ and snapped, “Let me guess, no banging other men, but threesomes with a chick would be cool.”  

“You can invite another woman into our bed if you like.”  He looked back at her, stunned by her anger.  “I won’t be.”  

“Oh, you won’t?”  She challenged him.  

“Obviously not.”  He pulled her to him, overpowering her struggle as he spoke into her ear.  “She would just feel left out as you and I devoured each other.”  

Sansa slowed her struggle, her jaw clenching in quiet hostility.  He took her reduced resistance as an opportunity to nuzzle the side of her face with his as he said, “There is no room for anyone else in our bed, man  _ or woman. _  I know you are not really worried about this--why are you acting like this is a concern?”  

Sansa sighed, calming as she inhaled his cologne and felt the warmth of his face against hers.  She was honest, “This is not how I would like to be proposed to.”  

“You’d like it to be more romantic, this was simply the wrong pitch.”  He acknowledged as he took a step back.  He reached in his pocket and presented her with the gorgeous three carat emerald cut diamond she knew, nestled in a ring box that squeaked when he opened it.  

She looked at it in the darkness, seeing it glimmer under the stars.  She had seen it before when he shoved it on her finger for a rouse at Bran’s school.  He told her that it was hers and that he had picked it out specifically for her, all the way back then, before so much had been shared between them.  Did he truly know that it would progress to this, so long ago?  He had told her at the time that it wasn’t a proposal yet, but that he hoped when it was, she would accept.  She stared at the ring as she listened to him speak.  

“I plan everything but I didn’t plan you.  Or how far from who I was I’d become in pursuit of you.  When you walk in the room, my whole body knows it.  And when you are not there, my mind wanders, unsettled without you.  I could claim your body and heart a thousand times and it would never be enough.”  He plucked the ring out of the box, snapping it shut and putting it in his pocket.  

He stared at her as he brought her hand up, “I spent days drawing up the prenup to show you that I don’t want to take anything from you.  You said that you wanted a ‘merger,’ never using the word marriage.  I thought if I respected that about you, I would stand a stronger chance of convincing you to let me claim you in a whole new way.”  

He slid the ring on her finger and she asked as she watched it sparkle, “Would that be enough?  You can’t marry me over and over again.”  

Petyr smiled and held her hand up in front of them as he held her close, “Seeing you wear my ring and being able to call you my  _ wife _ would satiate a need in me I didn’t know I had.”  He winked as he added, “I can’t promise I won’t still check in on you when you aren’t around though.”    

She chuckled, and rested her head against his.  This was what she wanted.  And much like him, she didn’t know she wanted it.  Hearing his words, smelling his smell, and feeling his arm around her gave her the courage to give in completely to what felt right regardless of any logical reason for or against it.  She breathed, “ _ Yes _ .”    

He dropped her hand and held her face, covering her mouth with his.  As they stood in passionate embrace, there was a loud booming crack that sounded through the air.  She startled at the explosion from the dock next to them.  A large cloud of fire and smoke covered the ship that had been docked, unloading containers.  Sansa’s heart raced as she listened to screams and watched people and debris fly into the water.  

She was glad for Petyr’s strong arms wrapped around her, a steadying force in the chaos of the devastation next to them.  She turned her head to commiserate with him over the shock of it.  The fire lit his face yellow and orange as he stared back at her, unmoved by the explosion.  The green pools of his eyes warmed as he smiled back at her, “It’s not fireworks, but it will do.”  

“You did this?”  She knew she shouldn’t be surprised but she had never been this close to an explosion before, or the person responsible for it.  

He nodded, “I took your advice.  I taught them a lesson.”  

Sansa registered his words and couldn’t contain her excitement as she surged forward, kissing him forcefully as she gripped his erection through his pants.  He groaned into her mouth and squeezed her ass before he broke free and turned her around, “After.  First, lets enjoy the show.”  

He wrapped his arms around her and she leaned back into him.  Petyr rested his chin on her shoulder as he said, “Look over there by that black suburban.  Do you see him?”  

Sansa peered at what looked like a teenager in an oversized business suit, bright blond hair in a Billy Idol haircut, running toward the explosion.  “Is that Joffery?”  

She felt Petyr smile, “Yes.  It’s a Lannister shipment.  Daario is going to have to deal with some pissed off Lannisters for losing their goods.”  

Sansa found herself laughing.  She wasn’t sure why, she had nothing against the Lannisters, even if their kid was an annoying little shit who sucked at tailing people.  Perhaps it was an emotional release from the excitement of the night and what it would mean for the rest of her life.  “We are just fucking everyone over, aren’t we?”  

“That’s the plan.”  Petyr kissed her neck and then said, “The retaliation for this should be interesting.”  

Sansa froze, “Retaliation?”  

Petyr chuckled, “You didn’t think Daario would take his licking with a good spirit, did you?”

Sansa said nothing, realizing what her hasty advice may have started.  “Then why?  Why did you listen to me?”  

Petyr reached down, playing with the ring on her finger with his thumb and said, “Because you were right.  Sometimes you need to flex your power to remind people you have it.”  

He brought her hand up into view again as he said, “Besides, we can handle anything he tries to do, because we’ll always be better.”  


	13. Friend and Foe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is important to keep good relations with enemies until you are ready to move against them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone know how to do an epilogue? Is there a button I'm not seeing? As I write, I'm totally wandering into epilogue territory...

It had been three days since Petyr proposed and his hands had not left her body since.  He was completely insatiable, demonstrating at every free moment just how pleased he was with her answer.  Even when they had other obligations, he found a way to touch and please them.  Sansa’s memory flashed to him taking her from behind as they watched their shipment come in on schedule.  

She had asked him why he was so insatiable and he admitted that seeing her wear the ring turned him on, and he also teased that he was trying to keep her from regretting her decision, at least until they made it to the altar.  She knew that he was teasing, but she wondered how much truth there was to that statement, as she remembered the nervous way in which he had asked her.  

Sansa also couldn’t help but notice wedding preparations were already underway.  He would broach the subject from time to time, kissing her shoulder as he asked what type of music she would like and massaging her back as he asked what type of flowers she thought looked the best.  Finally, after he collapsed on her completely spent and asked what her favorite type of cake was, she asked, “Are you planning our wedding?”  

She held him exhausted to her, rubbing his forehead, letting her fingers trail through his hair.  He pulled himself up onto his forearms and leaned forward to kiss her.  As he got up, he denied it, though admitted, “I want to know these details so that it is that much quicker when we start picking and scheduling.  I don’t want a long engagement.”  

“It’s been three days.”  Sansa laughed back at him as she got up off the couch, tugging her skirt down.  She looked down at her shoes and noticed a scuff mark on the left toe and frowned.  

Petyr had pulled his pants on and replied, “And it’s going to be a big wedding, best to get started.”  He followed her gaze to her shoe and then he pointed to the wall above the couch.  

Sansa turned around and saw a long horizontal scrape on the wall where her shoe had dug into it repeatedly as she flung her leg up over the back of the couch while Petyr thrust into her rapidly during their “quicky” in the office.  She was on her knees on the couch, rubbing the scrape with her fingers, examining it as she said, “I’ll have it fixed.”  

Petyr came up behind her, setting his knees on either side of calves, wrapping his arms around her and burrowing his face into her neck.  “No, leave it.  I’ll see it and think of you.”  

Sansa laughed and laid her head back on his shoulder.  Suddenly, what he said hit her and she picked her head up quickly, turning to face him, “Did you say a  _ big _ wedding?”  

“Yes, of course.”  He smiled back.  

Sansa pulled away from him, “Who are you planning on inviting?  Because it’s just me and my siblings on my end.”  Sansa didn’t mention Petyr’s family presence at the wedding as she knew there wouldn’t be any.  

Sansa had remembered him telling her so one night.  They were curled into each other talking till they fell asleep, the subject of family had come up and he shared that he did not know his parents.  The state workers told him that his father was never on the birth certificate and that he was taken from his mother in the hospital.  She had a long criminal record and a drug habit that resulted in him being born premature and in the NICU for ten days.  He grew up in various foster homes.  Sansa had cradled his head as she ran her fingers gently over the outline of his face, her forehead wrinkled in sympathy as she told him how sorry she was that he went through that.  

He had turned into her chest, inhaling her scent and smiling as he said, “Don’t be sorry.  In order to survive each placement, I had to learn how to read people, what motivates them, what affects them.  I would never have risen this high if I didn’t start from so low.”

Sansa knew that being on the top meant that the people on the bottom always wanted to drag you down as they climbed into your spot.  Petyr always had to be aware of any possible danger or threat.  It was in that moment that she had realized that he could sustain this lifestyle, where so many others would crack under the pressure, because he had only ever known how to survive.  From the moment he was born, on machines to stay alive in the hospital, he fought to thrive.  

He had changed position, pulling her down to his chest as he ran his fingers through her hair and said, “Now that you know where I come from, I hope you see why what you’re doing is so important to me.”  

“Hm?”  She nuzzled into his chest.  

“Your family.  How you made Robb take over, and then took over from him, making sure none of your family would end up like I did--wards of the state.  That’s part of why I always want to help you with them.”     

Sansa was pulled from her memory of his intimate confidence as she heard him explain, “We can’t just invite family.  This is a major event.  Petyr Baelish and Sansa Stark are tying the knot and bringing both the North and East together--together we are controlling a whole half of the city.  To not include the other families would be a major insult, and draw a line in the sand.”  

Sansa registered what he said, “It would be like declaring war, if they joined up like we have, the city would be divided.”  

“Exactly.”  He squeezed her in his embrace and continued, “We have to show them that our marriage is not a power-play.”  

“They will think it anyway because of…”  She trailed off not wanting to say it.  

He sighed and kissed her head, “I know.  You are young and hot and I’m--”

“ _ savage _ in the sack.”  Sansa interrupted to finish his sentence, running her teeth over her lips playfully.  She wanted to keep him focused on their strength, which was  _ them _ \--not what had torn them apart before.  She also couldn’t bare to hear any sadness or resignation in his voice.   

Petyr chuckled, “Glad you think so.”  He kissed her shoulder, “You know what I mean though.  So let’s not make it worse by not inviting them too.”  

Sansa knew he was right.  She nodded quietly enjoying the feel of his arms around her.  They didn’t stir until he said, “So, about the cake…”  

Sansa started laughing, “Yes?”  

“Want to go pick one?”  Petyr asked, smiling into her neck.  

“What?  Right now?”  She looked at him surprised.  

“Why not?”  He smiled back.  

She was definitely surprised by the offer, most people planned ahead, made an appointment, brought their maid of honor along too.  That reminded her, she needed to ask Arya to be her maid of honor.  She wondered briefly how that would go over.  Not wanting to think about her sister’s colorful response, she focused back on Petyr, “Why not.”  

He smiled and let her go, putting the rest of his clothes on.  Sansa got up off the couch and walked over to her crumpled panties on the floor only to hear Petyr state smugly, “I wouldn’t bother with those the way things have been going.”  

She laughed and put them in her purse.  “I’m starting to wonder why I bother with them at all.” 

Having left his office, they were just walking out of the hallway leading into the main room of the Mockingbird when Petyr tightened his grip on her arm the way he always did when he tried to caution her.  She followed his eyes to the object of his warning.  

It was a  _ little person _ , at least that’s what she had always thought they had preferred to be called.  She stared for a moment, studying that which was new to her.  It’s not that she had never seen a dwarf before, she had seen them on television and a couple of times she had seen some out and about in the city, from afar.  She had never seen one up close, and definitely not one approaching her.  Sansa glanced at Petyr, who seemed completely unphased by his presence.  He smiled, “Tyrion!”  

“Baelish!”  Tyrion smiled back as they clasped hands and Petyr bent slightly as they offered a quick one armed hug to each other.  Sansa knew instantly who this was.  Back when she was first researching the town, she had looked at all of the city’s heads.  Tyrion was Jaime Lannister’s little brother.  Sansa’s thoughts shifted to Petyr’s proposal under the pier and the scorched Lannister shipment.  

The half hug really got Sansa’s attention.  She had never seen Petyr display any sort of affection or warmth for anyone that wasn’t her.  She knew that it was false as he had just signaled her prior, but in observation, she wondered if part of it was real.  She could see it in his mannerisms and his face when he plastered a smile on and it actually touched his eyes.   

“What brings you here?”  Petyr asked smiling, as he gestured to a booth.  “We don’t open for another few hours, but I’m happy to send some drinks your way.  If you were hoping for more than that, you picked the wrong establishment.  You know I have others…”  

Tyrion laughed and for the first time Sansa noticed that he had bright blonde hair that glistened in the light when he tilted his head just right.  The shine, at times, accented his words with his head movements.  “Business.  And unfortunately, not  _ that _ kind of business.” 

Sansa maintained her polite smile as she checked him out and did not wonder what  _ that _ kind of business was.  Tyrion acknowledged her, “You’re Sansa Stark.  Word is out about you.”

“Oh?  And what do they say?”  Sansa was intrigued.  

“That you are bringing the Stark Wolf Pack back.”  Tyrion zeroed in on Sansa’s left hand.  He gestured toward it openly, “They say nothing about that.”  

Petyr placed his arm around her possessively, “It’s new.”

Tyrion looked at them both for a moment, receiving the confirmation of the relationship.  He broke out into a grin that Sansa thought was too large for a man so little, and exclaimed, “A drink!  To celebrate new love.” 

Petyr gestured to the bartender, and they came over with a bottle of bourbon.  Sansa thought that strange, as it wasn’t Petyr’s typical drink, or hers.  And then she saw Tyrion light up when the bottle came as he exclaimed, “Ah!  Pappy!”  

Sansa looked back at the bottle and read,  _ Pappy Van Winkle -- Family Reserve. _

Petyr smiled as he lead them into a booth, “Of course, aged twenty years.”  

“Not for me?”  Tyrion put his hand to his chest in disbelief as he sat down.  

“Well not  _ just  _ because you’re here,”  Petyr gestured towards Sansa with one hand as he poured the drinks with another, “We’re celebrating, of course.”  

Tyrion looked at Sansa again and smiled, “Of course.”  Gripping his glass, he made a mock serious face as he teased her, “Now tell me, how did he coerce you into accepting him?” 

Sansa knew that they were celebrating together amiably, but she also heeded Petyr’s warning prior and decided to deflect any serious statements until she got to know him better.  “You’re about to drink how.”  

Tyrion paused in surprise, then looked down at the bourbon and busted out in laughter.  “Oh she’s sharp, Baelish.”  

Petyr rubbed her thigh under the table as he smiled and said, “I’m well aware.”  

Displaying their happiness for Tyrion, she smirked at Petyr saying, “You love it.”  

Petyr looked back at her intimately, as if he forgot the Tyrion was there, “Mm.  There are lots of things I love about you.”  

Tyrion cleared his throat to remind them that he was there.  Sansa laughed inside, enjoying how their increased intimacy fooled him into thinking that they had forgotten him.  He was a representative from another family, creeping into their den, their instincts were too perked to not be aware of his presence.  

Petyr turned back to Tyrion, “I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry.  I’m a very lucky man.  But you came here for business.”  

Tyrion looked at Sansa, trying to decide whether or not to speak in front of her.  Sansa spoke, “I don’t know what your business is, but if it is truly with Petyr I’ll allow you privacy if he wishes it.  But if the north can help you at all, you’ll want me to be present.”  

Petyr smiled.  She hoped it was because he appreciated how diplomatic she was being.  He spoke, “She’s staying.  Either as head of the upper side, or as my future wife.”  

Tyrion nodded, “Of course.”  He took a swig of his drink and Petyr offered another.  Which he accepted, “It’s no secret that our latest shipment was  _ delayed. _ ”

Petyr looked remorseful.  “I heard.”  

“And it’s also no secret that yours wasn’t.”  Tyrion pushed.  

Sansa felt her stomach jump into her throat as she wondered if he had known.  Petyr remained the picture of calm as he responded, “I was annoyed that the Lannister shipment took precedence over ours at the time.  How lucky we were.”  

Sansa nodded her head in agreement with him, following his lead.  Tyrion nodded, appearing not to disbelieve him.  “You probably know the Tyrells received theirs back on the nineteenth.”

Petyr’s face appeared neutral, “I won’t pretend that I don’t pay attention.”  

Tyrion gave a small smile, “I appreciate your honesty.  It’s rare in our line of work.”  

Sansa watched Petyr nod his head once.  There was a brief silence and then Tyrion continued, “Needless to say, they are cleaning up shop.  Being the only suppliers in the west and now south, they have been taking some of our customers.”  

“That is a hard place to be in.”  Petyr acknowledged.  

Tyrion nodded, “Which brings me to my business with you.  I’m not asking for any favors.  I’ll pay.  Us Lannisters always pay, you know that.”  Tyrion’s words were sincere and Sansa wondered if it was the bourbon affecting him.  

Petyr looked solemnly, “I do.”  For a brief moment she wondered if the bourbon was affecting Petyr too, until she felt his thumb brush back and forth on her thigh.  She knew then that he was simply meeting him where he was at, matching his emotions.  She hid a smile as she felt pride in her husband to be.  

Tyrion spoke again, “Word is that your shipment is extra large.”  

Sansa knew that it was suspicious that Petyr’s shipment had grown in size after another was sabotaged, before he could speak she did, “Half is mine.”  

Tyrion looked up in surprise.  “Oh, we didn’t think--”  

Petyr smiled, “I’ve been helping her establish herself.”  

“Isn’t he going to be such a good husband?”  Sansa asked Tyrion playfully.  

Tyrion smiled, letting out a light chuckle as he looked down at his drink.  “Well, of course.  That explains it.”  

“Tyrion, you didn’t think I had something to do with what happened to your shipment did you?”  Petyr asked, appearing hurt.  

Tyrion looked apologetically, “Well, can you blame me for questioning?  In the same week that ours is taken from us, yours has expanded.”  

Petyr nodded.  “I can’t fault you for coming to conclusions anyone might.  But let me ask you this:  have I tried to capitalize on your loss?”  

“No.”  Tyrion acknowledged.  And then his teeth clenched as he admitted, “The Tyrells on the other hand…”  

Petyr dipped his finger under the hem of her skirt, rubbing the back of his finger on her covered thigh as he spoke to Tyrion, “What do you need from me?”  

Tyrion twisted his glass on the table in front of him, “I’d like to buy some of yours to dispense to our people just until our next shipment comes in.  Whatever you pay the Harpy, I’ll double it so you make your money back and more.”  

“I don’t know how much you charge your customers, but I have to believe that is a loss to you.”  Petyr reasoned.  

Tyrion nodded.  “It is.  But it would keep the customers.  It’s worth it to take a hit if you know that you’ll get to retain your clients for future business.”  

Sansa listened, understanding what he was telling her and finding herself appreciating the little man.  Petyr questioned, “Jaime’s okay with this?”  

Tyrion swallowed back his drink, making a slightly pained expression at the burning sensation.  “Eventually.”  

“He doesn’t know?”  Petyr smirked and cocked an eyebrow, digging his fingers further under her skirt.  

Sansa maintained her mask of indifference in front of Tyrion, noticing for the first time how many drinks he was having.  She wondered where he was putting it all.  

He waved his hands and shook his head, “Nothing so scandalous.  He knows, he knows.  He just doesn’t like it.  But he will when he still has people to sell to when our next shipment comes in.”  

“Your brother is lucky to have you in his ear.”  Petyr smirked.  

Tyrion sighed, “I tell him that all the time.”  

Petyr turned to Sansa, allowing his hand to slide up further as he said, “Sansa, do you want in on this?”  

“Maybe.”  She smiled.  

“ _ Maybe? _ ”  Petyr asked, furrowing his eyes in question.  

She focused on Tyrion and spread her knees as far as her short skirt would allow, allowing Petyr complete access.  “When is your next shipment in?”  

Tyrion looked at her surprised that she would ask.   _ Yes, I have a brain.  Stop being surprised. _  She thought to herself.  He answered, “On the fifth.”  

“Then you won’t need much product as it’s already the twenty-eighth.  I’ll sell fifteen percent.”  She turned to Petyr, feeling his fingertips tickle her short red curls.  “If you match me, he’ll have a solid thirty percent to get him through the week.”  

Petyr smiled, sliding a finger in between her folds, “I think I can manage that.”  

“Thirty is perfect.”  Tyrion grinned excitedly.  

Petyr looked back at Tyrion, “I’m glad that we could come to an arrangement that benefit everyone.”  His finger slid inside her, but she refused to squirm in front of their company.  Petyr smiled, “Stay, enjoy the bottle if you like.  But we really need to be leaving.  You caught us as we were about to pick our cake.”  

“Oh!”  Tyrion’s eyes widened.  “I didn’t realize!”  

Tyrion apologized, but did not make to move out of the booth.  Petyr retracted his finger and pulled her skirt down.  Sansa frowned at the loss of him.  He stood and held out his hand for her to join him.  Sansa scooted out, telling Tyrion it had been a pleasure.  

As they walked away, Sansa asked, “Should we really be leaving him there like that?  With that big bottle?”  

Petyr chuckled, “He’s fine, I’ve seen him much worse.”  

Petyr lead her around to the back where he had parked his car.  When they were completely alone, he pinned her against it, covering her neck in his kisses as he repeated her, “ _ Maybe- _ huh? _ ” _

She laughed under his hungry mouth as he brought one hand down, hiking her skirt up.  He smeared her wetness all around her womanhood as he rubbed vigorously. “You were amazing.”  

“You’ve been helping me.”  She acknowledged as she shivered at his hand.  

“Mm.”  He gently bit her neck as he dipped two fingers into her.  

Sansa inhaled, “You like him, Tyrion.”  

He pumped his fingers back and forth as he replied, “No.  I  _ respect _ him.  He’s smarter than his brother.”  

Sansa agreed.  She had never met Jaime Lannister, but judging by that one conversation she could see where Tyrion may be the smarter brother to most.  “Is that why you were so nice to him?”  

His thumb circled her nub as he admitted, “Partially.  But it is important to keep good relations with enemies until you are ready to move against them.”  

Sansa felt a wave of pleasure wash over her and she reached forward, ripping at his pants to free him.  At the feel of fresh air, he yanked his hand away and instantly impaled her.  She cried out in pleasure as he pumped into her.  When she regained her composure, feeling him massage her insides, she spoke, “Is that why you took Margaery Tyrell to that benefit gala?”  

Suddenly, Petyr stilled inside her.  She opened her eye to meet his in question.  He looked just as curious as she was.  He spoke, “What?”  

She clenched herself around him, encouraging him to continue.  He took her hint and slowly started moving again, though maintained his questioning expression.  

Sansa continued, “Margaery Tyrell, the brunette you took to that benefit gala.”  

“No.”  He pumped into her, pulling her shirt as he dipped his head down to her chest, “I took a whore.”  

Sansa laughed, “I’m sure she is.”  

Petyr picked his head up and looked at her, “The profile said she was Margaery Rose.”  

Sansa stopped laughing and picked her head up as she realized what he was telling her.  “You didn’t know.”  

He growled as he drove into her.  “No.   _ But I do now _ .”  

Sansa fell back on the car under the force of him, pleasure tingling all over her as she took in the raw power and anger he exuded.  She ran her hand up his chest under his shirt, feeling all his muscles flex and grinned, “She’ll pay for her mistake.”  

Petyr grunted his release into her and she accepted it, wrapping her legs around him, pushing him further into her, greedily taking in all that he let go of.  She ran her fingers up the back of his head as she feathered kisses up his neck and over his cheek, pulling his eyes to meet her deadly glare.  “I will hunt her down.”  

Petyr put his finger up to her lips and shook his head, regaining his composure.  “Not yet.  She did this for a reason.  We need to find out what her game is.”  

Sansa tamed the power and energy he gave her and allowed reason to take hold as she closed her eyes.  “I understand.”  

Petyr slid himself back in his pants and started fixing Sansa’s clothes for her, rubbing her back apologetically.  He must have realized that fucking against a car probably wasn’t the most comfortable place, especially since he lost control of himself.  Sansa smiled at how thoughtful he was, and how a bruise on her back was worth the feel of him when he wasn’t as thoughtful.  

Sansa sighed, “You are right.  She hasn’t made her presence known in the city.  Loras, the brother, is running everything without her.”  

“According to appearances.”  Petyr corrected.  

Sansa nodded, “Which means that when she does reveal herself, she’ll have some explaining to do.  I’d like to hear that explanation.”  

Petyr smiled and opened the car door for her.  “And I’d like to try some cake.”  

Sansa smiled and got in.  She grabbed a wad of napkins she knew he kept in his glove box, just over his beretta, and thought about how frustrating it was to wait for retribution.  But reminded herself she knew how to wait.  After all, she had waited six years once.   


	14. The Perfect Dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He told her that they could handle anything because they were always going to be better, and she believed him.

Sansa stood before the full-length mirror smoothing her hands over the beaded bodice of her gown.  She didn’t know how long these things took to make, but she guessed more than a couple of seamstresses had worked till the morning hours to get it done in time.  The date had been pushed up so many times at Petyr’s insistence-- all for very “practical” reasons.  She knew that they were excuses, as she knew from the moment she accepted his ring under that pier, that he would not be satisfied until he could address her as his wife.  Sansa loved how much he craved her, and delighted in each time he demonstrated to her how unable he was to wait.

And it did not go unnoticed when things suddenly became available, after one phone call from Petyr.  Well, from Varys, really.  She felt a shameless excitement inside knowing that Varys was the one laboring over her wedding preparations.  The bald man who secretly desired her soon to be husband was tasked with making sure that every detail  _ she _ wanted was adhered to.  She looked at the bouquet of fresh cut gardenias on the table beside her and smiled, admiring his work.  He may be in love with the wrong man, but he was damn good at his job.  

Sansa’s gaze drifted back to her gown, unable to take her eyes off of it for any length of time.  Like any other woman, she had flipped through magazines when she was young, favoring various bridal looks.  She had always admired the large puffy ones that reminded her of Cinderella.  But that was before fairytales had been ripped from her and she was forced to fight tooth and nail to keep her life and save the lives of her family--before she  _ grew up _ .  

For many years, Sansa had never considered that she would ever get to wear one.  Well, she had planned on wearing one, to complete her plan for The Hound.  But, _ that one _ didn’t count, and could be picked at random, just another small detail in a greater cause.  She never thought that she would get to wear one that  _ mattered _ , one that she chose.  She tilted a little, looking at the train, and admired it spread out, the beads weighing it down to stay in place.  She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrors behind her and was vaguely reminded of the outline of the mockingbird on the sign to Petyr’s club.  Dimples formed on her cheeks as she wondered if her dress was a subconscious tribute to him.    

As she thought of him, she grazed her fingers over the collar of sapphires and diamonds that he gave her, telling her, “It’s your ‘something blue.’  My gift to you.”  She let her fingers trace gemstones where they started together, to where they trailed down and scattered on her chest.  She thought of how many gifts he had given her over such a short period of time, the most important one was his complete and utter acceptance of her and everything it meant to be her:  colorful family, traumatic past, and at times an inexperience that fostered impulsivity.  

She twisted the diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist, her ‘something old,’ though it could also be considered her ‘something borrowed.’  She had recovered one of her mother’s bracelets from the family vault to wear.  Sansa tried to channel her mother’s strength as her nerves rose in her stomach.  She truly didn’t know why she was feeling so anxious: she wanted this.  Knowing what it was like to be without him, she never wanted that again.  Sansa took a deep breath as she twisted the bracelet and thought of all the things they had accomplished together: killing the Hound, diverting an investigation, acquiring his assets, increasing business with Drogo, strengthening relations with the Lannisters, and putting Daario in his place.  For a brief moment, she considered the lack of fall out from that.  He had met with them and after harsh words, made nice and kept business rolling.  Petyr warned her that it wasn’t over, and not to have a false sense of security just because the shipments kept coming.  But she did feel secure.  He told her that they could handle anything because they were always going to be better, and she believed him.  

Sansa preened in front of the mirror more, barefoot, not wanting to put her heels on until she absolutely had to.  She smiled at how far she had come from the Cinderella-look, as her gown hugged her hips and cascaded in a much narrower A than she would have preferred as a little girl.  She noted how she could hear her movements as the garment shifted with her.  

It was while listening to the beads on her dress make their music that she heard Bran outside the door, “Fuck you, I can see my sister if I want!”

She heard Rickon’s calm voice, “I don’t think she’s saying you can’t.  I think it’s just not a good idea while you’re  _ high _ .”  

“Holy fuck dude, It’s just peyote.  You think I don’t know how important this is?  Bitchy or not, she’s my sister too and out of respect, I kept it herbal.”  Bran argued.  

Sansa sighed, trying not to scrunch her face in irritation.  She had just sat with the make up artist for forty-five minutes and she was not willing to go through that again.  She was about to call out when she heard Arya’s voice, “Just sit your ass down  _ in the back _ , and pray she doesn’t see you this way.  Because so help me  _ christ _ , if you fuck this up for her there won’t be enough Oxy-Clean in the world to clean up the mess I make of you.”  

“What-the-FUCK, Arya?!  Why do ya gotta be such a cunt to me?”  Bran whined.  Sansa heard a muffled thud and then a bunch of coughing and wheezing, that sounded like it was coming from Bran.

Sansa heard Rickon’s steady voice say, “Sansa, wouldn’t want you punching anyone on her wedding day.”  

Sansa nodded to herself in agreement,  _ That’s right!  Of course it takes a twelve year old to be the voice of reason. _

She could hear Arya take a deep breath as she reasoned, “I didn’t get his face.  And Bran needs to learn not to call women cunts.  Go sit down.”  

Sansa heard more moaning from Bran and then she heard Arya’s voice get softer-- tender even, “Come on, go.  Please.  Come on.  You’re my brother.  I don’t want to hurt you.  Please.  Come on.  It’s a beautiful day, let’s keep it pretty for her.”  

Sansa blinked in surprise.  She had never heard Arya plead with anyone, and not like that.  Her little sister was genuinely trying to keep the peace.  It felt strange to Sansa to see Arya try to solve a problem without using her fists.  

The door opened and Arya walked through, coming face to face with her, easily discerning that Sansa had heard everything.  “I guess you heard all that?”  

“Yes.”  Sansa didn’t see the point in trying to hide it.  And then she suddenly noticed something else that wasn’t hidden very well, “Arya!  Is that a  _ bowie-knife _ ?!”

Arya touched the sheath she had strapped to her thigh and smile, “Awesome, isn’t it?”

“At a wedding?”  Sansa asked sarcastically.  

Arya looked down and pulled at her coat, unable to hide the hilt.  “It’s not  _ that _ noticeable…”

“It’s a fucking  _ bowie-knife! _ ”  Sansa took a controlled breath and tried again, “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your sense of style Arya.  It’s just that weapons at a wedding are a bit of a faux pas.”  

Arya shrugged, “Too bad.  Besides, have you seen your guests?  Everyone’s connected to someone else and it’s like a requirement to have either spent time in the can or got someone else to.  No joke, Sansa, your big day is loaded with big names.  Weapons are kind of a requirement.”  

Sansa blinked at Arya, who stood before her in the only maid of honor outfit she would agree to wear-- a light grey leather jacket with matching pants set and an emerald green silk blouse that she could not have looked any more uncomfortable in as she consistently picked at the fabric.  To her credit, she did allow some pleating in the back of the coat to offer a more feminine look and had the stylist to do her hair, tucking the purple tips up into the updo.  She wore a beautiful cubic zirconia (Sansa couldn’t trust her to be careful enough for diamonds) necklace and matching earrings to give her some extra dressing.  All in all, Arya looked about as elegant as Sansa had ever thought possible.  And all with a bowie-knife strapped to her thigh.

Arya unzipped her coat pocket and pulled something out that she held in her hand, not revealing what it was.  “Hike up your skirt.”  

“What?”  Sansa gasped a little in surprise.  

“Okay, I’ll wrestle ya, but don’t get mad if your dress gets fucked up.”  Arya advanced on her and Sansa shook her head, hesitantly lifting her skirt.  Arya tapped the chair beside her, “Put your foot here.” 

Sansa hesitantly did as she instructed, curiosity getting the better of her.  Arya unraveled some lace and a tiny knife in a holster and started tying it around Sansa’s thigh.  “Is that a  _ dagger?” _

“Yes.  It’s your ‘something borrowed.’  And, I want that back, my guy made it for me.”  Arya was knoting the lace tightly so that it wouldn’t fall.  

“Your  _ guy _ ?”  Sansa was struck by the sudden introduction of a new intimate detail about her sister.  She bent to try to look her in the eye, but Arya was quickly up and away from her, a flurry of movement.  

“Why are we focusing on me?  It’s your day!”  Arya pulled a wooden box off of the counter on the far wall.  “And your no weapons rule is stupid.  I think Baelish will like your garter.”  

Sansa ran her fingers over the garter with the dagger attached and a grin slipped out as she knew her sister was right.  “He will smile.”  Sansa decided to take a seat on the long bench on the other side of the room, hoping that the cool wall against her back would help ground her as she felt excitement fly across her belly.    

Arya smiled and carried the box over handing it to Sansa.  “Besides, weapons make the best gifts.”     

Sansa looked up at her to see if she was serious.  Arya smiled warmly at her and nodded, encouraging her to open it.  Sansa unlatched the clasps and slowly opened the lid.  Inside, laying on a bed of black velvet were two silver guns with mother of pearl handle grips.  The intricate details on the barrels and the grips told Sansa that these were really old and very special.  Arya reached in, picking them up and flipping them upside down so that Sansa could see the bottom of the handles.  One read, _Mr. Baelish_ and the other  read, _Mrs. Baelish._

“They’re dueling pistols.  Not saying that you guys will  _ need _ them or anything, but I thought that they looked cool and I couldn’t resist getting them engraved for you.”  Arya explained proudly.  Then she added, “Be careful, they are loaded.”    

_ Of course they are,  _ Sansa thought as her eyes glued to the gun that said,  _ Mrs. Baelish. _  For the first time she realized that she had never thought about whether or not to take his name.  She liked how it sounded, but she felt strange at the idea of no longer being Sansa  _ Stark _ .  She was the new leader of the Stark Wolf Pack -- according to gossip anyway.  And what if she wanted the rumor to become a reality?  She had always wanted to bring some power back to her family name? Her parents passed and it was lost, but Sansa got it back.  She fucked, betrayed, and killed her way back to her birthright--to her siblings birthright.  The idea of giving it up now made her stomach turn.  

“Sansa?  Shit.  You’re not getting cold feet are you?”  Arya read her anxiety and grabbed her arms, pulling them above her head.   “Keep your arms up, it will help you breathe.  Where’s your head at?  What’s rattling around up there?”  

“I can breathe, Arya.”  Sansa said as she pulled her arms down.  She picked up the  _ Mrs. Baelish _ gun and confessed, “We never talked about this, he and I.  Taking his name.”

“Oh.”  Arya realized what her sister meant, and then blew out an exasperated breath as she asked, “What’s the big deal?”  

Sansa placed the gun back in the box and looked up at her, “I worked so hard to get our name back.  Get what belongs to us back.  I’m building something.  Not just for myself, but you too, and Rickon, even Bran and Robb if they can get it together.”  

There was a long silence and Arya picked up the box and set it on the table, lid open, still displaying the gift she was clearly proud of giving.  She sat next to Sansa, shoulder to shoulder and started unclasping the sheath for the knife strapped to her thigh and then clasping it again.  It was a nervous gesture that Sansa was used to in Arya so she outed her for it, “It’s my wedding day, why are you the one that is so nervous?”  

“When you told me what you were doing, why you were so busy, I couldn’t be happy for you.”  Arya confessed.  

“I noticed.”  Sansa admitted, remembering that day at the shooting range when Arya seemed less than enthused to hear Sansa’s declaration.  “But I can’t figure out why.”  

Arya sighed and brought her face up to look at Sansa, “None of us want it.  And those of us that do, shouldn’t have it.  This is not a Stark-thing, it’s a Sansa-thing.”  

Sansa felt a tightness in her chest as she heard that no one wanted what she was trying to give them.  She needed clarification to assuage her feeling of rejection, “What do you mean?”

“I  _ mean _ you are the only one that wants this life.  Robb is a pussy.  You should see him and his wife out there, freaking out, eyes like saucers, looking all around.  Doesn’t help that Baelish has them sandwiched between two very large goons, of course.  But that’s not the point.  He’s not cut out for this life, best let him run back to his third-world hole to hide in.”  Arya’s arm started waving as her frustration in Robb came out.  It was a frustration Sansa understood all too well.  

Arya continued, “Me-- well you know me.  I don’t even like coming in the city, let alone dealing with the spider web of people connected to people.  I don’t want to punch someone one day and find out he was a distant cousin of a stripper someone important banged and now I’m gonna wind up dead in a ditch.  Fuck that, Sansa.  I keep to myself and only come in here for you.”  

Sansa knew the truth in that, but wanted to contest it.  She wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to worry about those things because of how well she was connected, just by being her sister.  But she knew that wasn’t the point.  Arya was never interested in the politics of it all, and she was right.  One day she would probably fight the wrong guy and there would be hell to pay.  

Arya moved on, “And Bran--he’s too much of a fuck-up to last more than a day in this life.  He will get too cracked out and the empire our parents built and you restored will crumble.”  

Sansa blinked, hearing just how clear Arya spoke.  She was taken off guard to hear just how much her sister had thought things through.  Her reaction back at the shooting range only made more and more sense.  

Arya started to move to Rickon, but Sansa put her hand up and spoke, “And there is no way that  _ I _ would allow this for Rickon.  He’s got a real chance at something more.  I wanted to set him up like Mom and Dad did for us, clean books and flush cash.”  

Arya smiled at Sansa words.  Sansa was grateful that they understood each other, and that they were on the same page with their youngest sibling.  And if Sansa thought about it, they were on the same page with everyone really.  Sansa had repeatedly told herself to share this with her siblings without ever truly thinking about if they were suited to it, or if they even  _ wanted _ it.  Arya snapped the case shut one last time and stretched her arms forward, the leather from her coat and pants creaking as she did, “So.  There you have it.  Don’t keep Stark for us.  It’s just a fucking name.  And if you’re worried about ‘losing yourself’ like some stupid Oprah--Dr. Phil self-help thing by taking his name, you just remember:  Mom never stopped being a Tully just because she became a Stark.” 

Sansa absorbed all of her sister’s words of wisdom.  And then she smiled, “Arya, are you trying to convince me to take his name?”  

“Well, as names go, it doesn’t sound  _ bad. _ ”  Arya smiled back.  

“How very  _ traditional _ of you.”  Sansa laughed.  

“Traditional-shit.  I went ahead and engraved the gift, you’re stuck with that name now.”  Arya stood up and looked at herself in the mirror.  “Damn, I clean up good.  And you are so right about the knife, it’s  _ beyond  _ noticeable.”  

“Thank you!”  Sansa exclaimed as she stood back up. 

Arya smiled back and said, “Too bad I’m not taking it off.  But, because it’s your wedding day, I’ll keep turned away on that side so it isn’t as obvious.  And I’ll try to sit down as much as possible.  I can be discreet, believe it or not.”

Arya gave Sansa a quick kiss on the cheek and said, “I should get going.  Jon’s outside the door, chomping at the bit to do his part.  I think it’s really cool that you asked him to walk you down the aisle in Dad’s place.  You two have always been tight.  And I mean, it’s obvious that you would pick him anyway, he’s the one who knows where the bodies are buried.”  

Sansa froze and blinked at Arya’s winking smiling face.  Sansa realized that she was joking and she forced herself to offer a light chuckle.  It was a chuckle that Arya completely saw through.  “Holy shit!”  She exclaimed.  

Sansa shook her head minimizing it, “Whatever you’re thinking, Arya, no.”  

Arya’s hand covered her open-mouthed smile.  “Yeah right!  Holy shit.  I was just joking, but wow.”  

Sansa stared at her, her heart-rate increasing.  Through clenched teeth she warned, “ _ Arya.” _

Arya cleared her throat and blew out some air to regain composure and hide her smile.  She smoothed her hands over her jacket and silk top and said, “Whew, okay.  Yeah.  I mean, you and Jon are such good friends.  That’s all.”  

“Go on Arya, get out.”  Sansa batted her away playfully.  She watched her scoot out the door and Sansa ran her hand over the veil she had set on the table.  It still didn’t feel real to her, like she was a little kid playing dress up.  She wondered if part of that was her bare feet, toes digging into the plush carpet, the one part of her not adorned in rich gems or fabrics.  She knew that too would change soon enough as she pulled one of her shoes out of it’s box and examined it.  

She was looking down at the satin material that shined in the light as she tilted it in her hand when she heard him purr, “ _ Divine _ .”  

She smiled and brought her gaze up to the mirror in front of her that showed the man behind her.  Her hand dropped to her side, barely clutching the shoe as she twirled around to face Petyr.  He looked handsome in his black tux with emerald green vest and tie.  He took a step forward and his face softened, “You are without doubt the most beautiful woman in the world.”  

Sansa felt herself blush at his compliment, and to divert his attention, she picked at his tie, “You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. Baelish.”  She let her hands slide down the breasts of his jacket and slide under to the vest.  She felt the cool white gold chain of the pocket watch he was wearing.  “I see you got my gift to you.”  

“Mm, I love it.”  Petyr smiled warmly, “Any time I miss you, I’ll open it and see the picture of us together.”  

Sansa smiled and explained, “It was my father’s.  I wanted you to have it.”  

“What about your brothers?”  Petyr asked hastily.  

“All of us took mementos from Mom and Dad’s things once they passed, I took the pocket watch.  It’s mine.  And now, I’m giving it to my  _ husband _ .”     

He leaned forward and kissed her, allowing his hands to loosely sit on her hips before breathing, “ _ Almost _ .”  

Sansa smiled and blinked her eyes open, pulling back to reality.  She looked at him and realized something, “Hey, you’re not supposed to be here!  There’s a rule about the groom seeing the bride before the wedding.”  

“And we’ve always made our own rules.”  Petyr grinned.  He happened to look down at the shoe in her hand, “Come on Cinderella, let’s get your shoes on.”  

“What?”  She looked back at him curiously and then realized what he meant when he took the shoe from her hand and held a chair out for her to sit.  “No, Petyr.  I’m fine.  I can put my own shoes one.”  

He kept the chair in place as he smirked, “Now, I recall a certain morning where I told you that it’s not a bad thing to let someone care for you--it was in the shower if that jogs your memory.”  

She sighed grinning as she remembered exactly the conversation and shower he was referencing.  She sat down in the chair and watched as he came around to the front of her, crouching at her feet.  She lifted her skirt a little to expose her foot and watched Petyr reflexively cup her calf as he brought the shoe over with his other hand.  He had not yet gotten it on when a man appeared in the doorway, “Mr. Baelish?”  

Petyr looked up at the the mirror behind Sansa, watching the man enter the room.  Another man in a suit entered behind him.  Petyr’s hands stilled, his eyes focused on the men.  “What is it?”  

The first gentleman smiled politely, “There’s been a bit of a problem with the flowers, Mr. Varys told us to ask you to come take a look.”  Varys never would have had Petyr come assist with any problem involving flowers.  As the other man shifted, Sansa saw the hilt of a gun sticking out from under his coat and she felt a thousand pins and needles prickle her skin in warning.    

Petyr started to stand when Sansa caught his arm, staring meaningfully into his eyes as she slid his hand up her thigh.  She kept her gaze on him as she spoke loudly for them to hear, “Honestly  _ honey _ , why do we have an assistant if he doesn’t  _ assist _ ?”  

Petyr cocked an eyebrow at her in question as he allowed his hand to be lead up her leg.  “I don’t know  _ sweetheart _ .”  His fingers brushed against the knife and his eyes widened.  Without moving her head, she slowly cast her gaze over to the bouquet of gardenias.  His eyes followed hers and he instantly pulled the dagger out of it’s sheath sliding it under his sleeve as he retracted his arm.  “At least he got your bouquet right.”  

“At least.”  Sansa slid her skirt over her still bare feet, “Thanks for helping me with my shoes.  You’re the best.”  

They both stood up and faced the men who did not appear to be from the floral company.  Petyr walked calmly to them, clasping an arm over one of their shoulders casually and comfortably, “Alright, show me this flower crisis.”  

Sansa watched the two men smirk at each other behind his back and a sick feeling took hold in the pit of her stomach.  She opened her mouth but nothing came out as she watched Petyr about to leave with them.  She took a step forward, trying to find her voice when she saw the glimmer of the knife slide out of Petyr’s sleeve into his palm, as his arm rested around the guy’s neck.  As fast as reflex, Petyr sliced the side of the man’s throat.  Blood sprayed against the door in a shower of red.  As soon as the knife finished dragging across the flesh, Petyr turned on the other man, all in one fluid motion.  The movement was so fast and smooth that the man had only just registered the danger, holding his hand over his gun in his holster as he felt the point of the blade on his adam’s apple, stopping him.  

Sansa looked at the man lying in a pool of blood and then at Petyr pinning the other against the wall, demanding to know who sent him.  It was a fair question, with so many irons in the fire, anyone who came to a realization may want him dead.  Petyr was too slick for them though.  She felt pride and excitement bloom in her chest as she wondered briefly if Petyr employed skills he had gained from his earlier years when he had to be more hands on with situations.  She had seen the violence in his eyes and jaw when he was angry, commanding brutality out of others.  But she had never seen his muscles flex to conquer and dominate.  She caught only mere glimpses of his power and strength in their intimate moments, but this was not the same as that.  She found herself tingling with arousal at how strong and quick he was.  She couldn’t wait to call him  _ husband _ and claim him just as much as he had been wanting to claim her.   

The door to her left slowly opened and Sansa saw it was Jon, probably coming to get her for their walk down the aisle.  Or to tell her that her groom had not yet shown at the alter.  He would not expect what he saw when he entered, eyes wide as he looked at Sansa.  She motioned him in as Petyr continued to demand to know who sent them.  The man remained silent and Petyr slowly cut into his neck trying to motivate him.  

Sansa had just relaxed feeling the potential danger successfully thwarted when two other men in suits rushed in, guns pointed as one yelled, “Drop the knife!”

Jon’s gun came out, faster than Sansa had time to realize that he was packing.  The man trapped against the wall started smiling and laughing.  Petyr smiled politely back as his other hand reached in his own pocket, “It’s not that your friends want you to live, it’s that they don’t want me armed when they take me.  Your life is nothing.  I could cut your throat and face no consequence.”

Before the man could respond, Petyr jammed the knife in his neck and left it there.  When the men did not immediately advance, Petyr looked back, “See?  They don’t care.”    The man sank to the floor while Petyr raised his hands.  One hand held his phone.  “I’m just going to toss my phone to my girl.”  He flashed a smile and winked, “I don’t want to miss any calls while we’re out.”

Petyr turned slowly, giving Sansa his playful grin, “You’re on me about seeing you before the ceremony, but you’re  _ packin’ _ on our wedding day?  You’re going to be a wonderful wife.”  He held his phone out to her, “Catch.”  

Sansa did, just barely.  She tightened her grip on it, feeling the absurdity of worrying about his phone with the very real danger ahead of them.  His eyes glinted warmly at her, “You truly look amazing in that dress.  Even prettier than the one you wore to that benefit gala, back…”  He trailed off smiling confidently, “I can’t remember when.  You are much  _ better with dates _ than I am.  I’m sure if you think about it, you’ll know when it was.”  

He wasn’t making sense.  Sansa’s eyebrows furrowed as she listened to him, confused.  She didn’t know what he was talking about, but she did know that he could not leave with them.  People who were taken away by men like these didn’t come back.  “Don’t go.”  

Petyr motioned with his head from one armed man to the next as he put on a fake smile, “It doesn’t look like I have much of a choice.”                

“Take the shot, Jon.”  She said in a hard, distant voice she didn’t recognize.  Sansa wouldn’t let him be someone who didn’t come back.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jon standing, legs spread, both hands gripping his gun as he aimed.  He was always so careful.  She knew that from spending years at the range with him.  She used to admire that, now she hated it.  His cautiousness could cost her Petyr.  

One man aimed his gun on Petyr and the other aimed back at Jon.  Sansa glanced at the dueling pistols gleaming in the light as they sat in the box across the room, considering how long it would take her to get to them.  “Jon, take the shot.”

Petyr smiled back at her, maintaining a facade of confidence as he said, “I think he’s scared he might miss and hit me.”  The man who held a gun on Jon lowered his weapon and used zip ties behind Petyr’s back to restrain him.    

“There’s a chance of that.”  Sansa acknowledged to Petyr.  “If you walk out of here, there’s a greater chance of you not coming back.”  Her voice raised as she grinded her teeth, “Take the fucking shot, Jon!”  

He didn’t, too unsure.  And Petyr looked back at Sansa with soft eyes as the two remaining men started to lead him out the door.  “Don’t worry, I’ll be back.”  He raised his voice cracking a joke with a fake laugh meant to spite the goons that dragged him away, “We may need to reschedule the wedding, though!”

“No.”  Sansa breathed, suddenly feeling the tightness of her tailored dress.  He couldn’t leave!  “No!  No!”  She panicked, her voice raising, as she felt him slip away.

Sansa ran across the room, pulling the pistols out of their case as she made for the doorway.  She ran clumsily, her long train catching on all the furniture and the latch on the door frame, holding her back and trapping her in place.  

Sansa struggled against her dress, unable to work the fabric free with both hands holding guns.  She ran against it, trying to wriggle and rip free.  What was once a lavish garment designed to support and express the magnitude of her love for one man, was now an iron maiden trapping and confining her.  Sansa growled as she fought against it, thrashing and yanking, before she suddenly heard Arya scream, “Watch your legs!”  

She didn’t know when Arya got there and she didn’t care.  Silver caught Sansa’s eye as she saw Arya’s teeth bared with the exertion of her work.  She was slashing and cutting the fabric of the dress with the giant knife she gripped in her hand, trying to free her.  Sansa strained against it, feeling her legs free and spring into action as she ran down the long hallway that lead to the back exit, in full sprint as she did when she was in school winning medals.  She crashed into the door with her side, letting her hip push the emergency exit bar, ignoring the pain of the bruises to form.  As she was half turned, she caught sight of Jon and Arya coming down the hall behind her.  The door opened out to the alley way where all the service vehicles had parked.  

Temporarily blinded by the sunshine, she didn’t see the black town car until she heard the engine turn over and accelerate.  Terror set in Sansa as she watched Petyr being sped away, she ran top speed after it, shooting both barrels recklessly as she roared,  _ “NOOO!” _

It was no use, she was not used to the pistols, or dual-wielding.  As she ran, barefoot on that pavement, ignoring the sharp pebbles and street debris that stuck in her feet, her aim bounced and was unsteady.  The last time she tried to shoot while running was the night she lost her parents, seven years ago now.  She tried to tell herself to stop and aim but couldn’t still her legs from running to catch him.  She barely heard Arya scream, “Shoot the tires!” 

The car squealed as it turned at the end of the alley.  Air stung Sansa’s lungs and her legs gave out from under her as she collapsed on the pavement, clicking the triggers to the empty guns as she howled at the last place she saw the car.  

Sansa’s eyes clamped shut, and her mouth hung open sobbing in agony.  She didn’t notice the sound of a motorcycle rev, or see Arya speed past her and screech a turn after the car.  She didn’t notice the sirens as they got closer, or Jon standing beside her, lowering his gun in resignation.  Sansa felt nothing but the gnawing loss that tore her to shreds, a tattered mess on the pavement in her perfect dress.   


	15. Vows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She sharpened her blade on someone she loved as she allowed her heart to harden into action.

At first, she couldn’t hear anything but the thudding of her own heart between her ears drowning everything out.  Numb to all of her senses, Sansa didn’t feel the ground under her, or open her eyes to the family that surrounded her.  It wasn’t until she tried to swallow, that she actually felt something, her throat shredded by her screams.  It was that scratching, tearing, aching pain that slowly brought her back into the world.  

She was vaguely aware of Bran standing in front of her, “Fuck, she’s so fucked right now.  I can fix this!”

“What do you mean?”  It was Rickon’s voice.  She was going to look over, but turning her head felt too difficult.  

“I’ve got some Quaaludes in the car!”  Bran started digging in his pockets for his keys.  

Rickon’s voice sounded angry, “Does she look like she needs to be sedated?  She’s not talking or moving a muscle!”

Bran crouched down in front of Sansa, worry wrinkling his brow, “No, she’s not, but she is fucking _raging_ inside.  Look at her eyes.”  

“That’s enough, Bran.  We need to get her standing.”  She knew that voice but couldn’t make herself move to see the man it came from.  

Bran offered as much sympathy as he could, “Aw, shit Dude.  I get that you care and everything, but like she fucking _hates_ you.  It’s probably best if you guys just leave.  No offense Talisa.”  Sansa silently blinked, wondering if Robb and Talisa were really there.    

“He’s not going anywhere.  We need him.”  Rickon stood his ground as he reached forward, coming into her view.  She was vaguely aware of him taking the guns out of her hands.  Sansa watched her baby brother tear them down, making sure that all the bullets were gone.  Sometimes Sansa forgot that Rickon had some basic knowledge of firearms too.  He was six when their parents had been murdered, not too young for one of Ned Stark’s kids to be maintaining a deadly weapon.     

Robb came into view, “Rickon, stuff those in your belt and button up your jacket.  They aren’t going to search a kid.”  

Sansa didn’t see his hands move but she knew that Jon had interjected when she heard Rickon say, “Jon says that we need to get Varys to handle the police.”  

Robb nodded, “Okay, anyone know what he looks like?”  

Rickon watched Jon and then described him.  Bran spoke, “Buddha?  Yeah, I know him!  He’s the one who sicced those fat guidos on Robb and his chick--sorry Talisa.  I’ll go grab him.”  

Her voice was soft, and Sansa would not have recognized it to be Talisa’s if she hadn’t heard people address her.  “She’s going to need to get cleaned up.  I have some clothes in my suitcase.  Robb, I need the car keys.”  

Sansa heard the jangle of them being tossed and swallowed again, and this time blinked too.  She felt the muscles in her arms starting to stir, still not strong enough to move outwardly.  Robb continued pacing in front of her, “Okay, so groom got cold feet and ran.  Bride’s a wreck, we’re just trying to console our sister.  As soon as Talisa gets her some fresh clothes, I’ll take the dress and mop up the blood with it.  There’s got to be a closet we can stuff those bodies in until the cops clear.”    

Sansa felt her fingers twitch, life coming to them, as she watched her brother try to control the damage.  She wanted to speak and tell him not to worry, Petyr owned the police.  But she didn’t know how far that extended, how large of a mess could be left.  She wished he were here to tell her.  She didn’t know these things.  She swallowed the lump lodged in her scored throat, thinking maybe it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing that Robb was scraping the scene clean.  

“What about the shots?  It was a _shoot out!_ ”  Rickon held one palm over his buttoned up and now bulky blazer as he panicked.  

Robb put his hands on Rickon’s shoulders, stabilizing him.  “And it’s a terrible neighborhood.  Shots are fired out here all the time.  In fact, there were shots?  I didn’t notice.  I was inside the whole time, consoling my poor sister--left at the alter.”  

“No one is going to believe that.  The police are probably pulling up as we speak.”  Rickon doubted.  

“So then let's pick her up and get her back to her room.”  Robb let go of Rickon and then his eyes softened.  “And they will believe it, if _everyone_ is saying it.”  

Rickon stared back.  Robb reaffirmed his words.  “It’s a terrible neighborhood.  Lots of drivebys.  We were inside with our sister.  The maid of honor left to go find the runaway groom.”

Rickon nodded slowly and then they all turned their gaze to Sansa, slowly advancing on her.  Her brothers both tried addressing her gently.  But it was Jon who was able to get to her.  Wordless he reached down, lifting her up off the ground as if she were a doll.  Finally finding her strength while in his arms, she turned her head and faced him.  

As he set her down, she felt herself slowly steady on her feet, the world around her found its right side up and she noticed the supportive embrace of gravity holding her stance strong.  Her dress loosened on her and her fine motor skills: blinking, swallowing, fingers stretching and clenching, all smoothed out, becoming more controlled.  His face was sorrow in the wrinkled eye brows, pouty lips, and large glassy eyes.  She knew that Jon held regret, though she held none as she heard more than felt her hand slap across his cheek.  

He looked at her, bringing his palm up to the stinging cheek.  Sansa watched a single tear roll down his other as her voice cracked, “You failed me.”  

Jon’s hands flew in the air trying to speak.  Sansa clamped her grip down over his, ceasing all communication.  “I don’t want to hear it.   _Go_.  Bring him home to me.”  She took a shaky breath and her voice broke as she added, “Or don’t come back.”  

She turned away from him, not looking back.  Sansa knew in the sliver of her heart that was not broken for Petyr, that she did not mean it.  He was still her loved Jon, the man that would hide the bodies and walk her down the aisle.  He would always have a place at her table.  But her need to cause pain took over.  She sharpened her blade on someone she loved as she allowed her heart to harden into action.  

Rickon walked on one side of her, Robb on the other as they went back into the building.  Rickon ran ahead to grab Bran at Robb’s instruction.  They had bodies to move.  Sansa looked forward as she spoke to her older brother, “That was quick thinking, a lot of storytelling and mopping.  I never would have expected it from my brother the humanitarian.”  

His voice sounded in her ear as he walked next to her.  It was harder than how she heard it on the phone, “Just because I don’t choose to live this life, doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to.  You forget, I had four more years with Mom and Dad than you did.  I know _this world_ better than you think.”  

Sansa glanced over at him, for the first time noticing what may lay beyond the loose brown curls on his head and the soft patchy facial hair that surrounded his firm mouth.  He was eighteen when their parents had passed.  If she were taught how to fire weapons and basic knife skills at fourteen, what had Robb been doing by eighteen?  She used to tease him, calling him “Momma’s Boy” because of how often their mother had asked _him specifically_ for assistance with things.  Sansa was starting to wonder what those things might have been.  

As they entered the room, Rickon and Bran were still struggling to get one of the men in the closet.  Sansa walked past to Talisa who stood by the white shutter partition, holding out some jeans and a shirt folded in both hands.  Her smile was warm and gentle and Sansa hated it.  She didn’t want compassion, she wanted Petyr back.  Robb nudged Rickon out of the way, and told Bran, “Tuck their hands inside their belts, the bodies move easier if the limbs are kept tight against the torso.”  

Sansa stood behind the divider trying to strip, unable to get out of the dress.  In choosing her gown, she had forgone practicality for beauty as she knew that it would be Petyr’s job to relieve her of her dress.  She stifled a sob as she reluctantly stepped out of the divider and looked meaningfully at Talisa, unable to ask.  

Luckily, the woman just knew.  Maybe that was what Robb was drawn to.  Sansa couldn’t consider it as she turned, allowing the assistance.  She thought of how Arya had helped her into this dress and she wasn’t there now to work the buttons for her.  It was then that Sansa started to register that Arya was not there.  She remembered hearing Robb say, _The maid of honor ran after the runaway groom._

Fuck.  Arya.  Sansa covered her face.  Arya was loyal to a fault, running off without a plan, or back up.  She was a lone wolf outnumbered by an unknown force.  Talisa spoke softly, “I know I’m not the one who’s supposed to be helping you with this.”  Sansa wondered if she was referring to Petyr or Arya, or if she was insightful enough to know either, or both.  She continued, “But I hope that it is a help to you, nonetheless.”  

Sansa took her hands off of her face and nodded, refusing to look at her.  She was vaguely aware of a consistent beeping sound before she heard Rickon ask in frustration, “Any idea what his passcode is?  I can’t get past the lock screen.”  

The phone!  Sansa remembered his insistence on giving her the phone, she thought it absurd at the time.  She felt the last button at the base of her spine come loose and she pushed the dress over her hips, kicking it off fiercely.  She kept her bridal lingerie on, thankful she did not opt for a corset, though untied the lace garter that held the empty dagger case.  Talisa held the clothes out to her and Sansa yanked the jeans on, noticing they were a tad tight in the hip area, but able to button them regardless.  She thought about everything he had said in their last moments together as she slid each arm into the loose plaid button up shirt.  She buttoned just enough to be decent as she came out back into view of the room.  

Sansa grabbed the phone from Rickon, rapidly trying various numbers that she knew were important to Petyr, only somewhat noticing Talisa handing Robb the remains of her gown.  She listened to the tearing sound of him making rags out of it to wipe the blood from the door.  She remembered Petyr saying that she was “better with dates” than he was and realization hit.  She wasn’t.  He knew that.  She was terrible at remembering exact dates, feeling how relative time was.  Petyr on the other hand, remembered everything.  

She thought about the Gala, trying to think of when that could have been.  It felt like ages ago, they had come so far from that time. She closed her eyes, trying to remember the invitation for the gala sitting on Clegane’s desk.  She typed in the six digit date and her heart sank when it was wrong.  

Sansa looked up, seeing that they had taken the garbage bag out of the can and Robb was putting bloody rags in it.  Talisa had filled the trash can in the bathroom sink and was washing as much as she could, by his side.  Rickon and Bran had run out to apologize to the guests, offering only the shaky story Robb concocted.  Something inside her told her not to give up on the date.  She typed it in again, this time making the year four digits and all of a sudden the screen changed revealing his desktop.  His background was simply a textured wall of vertical red and orange strands reaching from top to bottom, consuming the whole screen.  She looked at it a moment longer and realized that it was her hair.  Had he snapped a picture of her hair laying on the pillow as she slept?  She felt her heart speed up at the gesture of love.  The only icon on the screen was a document entitled, _Vows._

Her thumb hovered over it, her chest tight.  She had to see it.  She needed any part of him she could have.  But she wanted to hear them from him, and tell him hers.  She thought about how they may never get to share their vows.  Anger surged through her, _The fuck we won’t!_ She hit his contacts button instead and watched as the screen loaded hundreds of names.  Code names.  Her heart sang at Petyr’s beautiful mind.  First and foremost was _Brainless Pretty Face_ \--her.  A sideways smile formed at their inside joke.  She scrolled through names and was struck by the name _Mustang Sally_ and instantly thought of Bronn, the man that Petyr called for everything too violent and important to trust anyone else with.  Everytime she had seen him in a car it was a Mustang--it had to be him.  Sansa was about to tap it and call but realized that he may not come for _her_ .  But this was Petyr’s phone, so she texted her address and added, _20K bonus to here in 10mins._

Sansa exited out of the contacts and stared back at the home screen, and the lone icon entitled _Vows._  She thought of her own.  Where Sansa was terrible at remembering dates, she remembered words and sentiment perfectly.  She put his phone in her pocket and walked over to the gun case.  She lifted out the black velvet setting, knowing her sister all too well.  Underneath was the box of ammo that Arya had used to load the pistols, the extra rattling around in it.  Sansa brought the ammo box over to the table that Rickon had set the guns down on.  Calm washed over her as she began the mindless task of slowly loading them.  She repeated her vows to Petyr in her head:  

 _I am unequivocally yours and I could not be held by any other.  It is in the heat of your embrace that I am able to rule my fire.  Nothing will keep me from you, as it is only by your side that I belong.  In my loyalty to what we alone share, I will take from you and give to you--everything._           

Her eyes teared and her jaw tightened as she silently repeated, _Nothing will keep me from you._  She placed the guns back in their case, with a resolve to bring them into play when she found the person who tried to break her vow before she was able to give it.  She was just clicking the case shut when she heard Mustang Sally’s voice, “It’s the chick with the golden snatch.”

Sansa turned around to meet him.  Robb looked up from his work, “Who’s this?”  

Bronn ignored him, continuing to only address Sansa, “I would ask you where your man is, but anyone with an ear can hear he _ran away_.  Except, I know how hard he hunted you.  You don’t run from a victory like this.”  Bronn gestured to the bridal changing suite around them.    

Sansa stood firm.  Before she could say anything, Bronn continued, “My guess is that someone took him, and you’d like me to recover him.”

“I will come with you.”  She picked up the case and started for the door.

Bronn walked past her, stopping in front of her, searching her face.  “You’re just as stupid for him as he is for you.”  Sansa stared back and then tried to move around him.  He brought his hands out, holding her arms to stop her.  

Sansa looked down at his hands on her, and slowly brought her attention back to his face, glaring.  He continued, “You will slow me down.  And.  He wouldn’t want you coming.  Now I can either find him right off without you, or we can take twice as long as I try to keep you safe and he winds up dead.”  

“You underestimate how good I am with a gun.”  She hissed through her teeth.  

Bronn let go of her arms, “You can be Annie Oakley, and still slow me down.  If I save him and something happens to you in the process, he’ll kill me and you still won’t get to be with him.”  

Sansa stilled, hearing his words, reluctantly and resentfully.  Seeing that she wasn’t going to move, Bronn started to back up towards the door, asking as an afterthought, “Hey, where’s Johnny-Boy?”  

She felt her heart squeeze.  “He’s looking for Petyr.  With my sister, Arya.  If you see them, keep them safe.”  

Bronn nodded and before passing through the doorway, he shot back, “What does your sister look like?  Is she hot?”  

“MOVE!”  Sansa barked at him, finding no room for his humor as each second that went by brought her further away from Petyr and hope of having him back alive.  

She marched toward the doorway, turning to look down the hall to make sure he was running instead of sauntering as he was apt to do.  The hallway was completely empty, he had vanished, disappearing into thin air.

When she turned back into the room, still humid with fresh death and decay, Rickon approached her with the two wallets belonging to the men tucked away in the closet.   _Petyr’s victims_ , she smiled to herself.  “Hey Sansa, I didn’t know if maybe there’s anything in these that could help you.”  

Sansa picked them up and started flipping through them.  Both men carried the same gym membership card with a date written on the back.  Today’s date.  The gym on the cards were special in that they focused on mixed martial arts.   _Drogo_ , Sansa realized.  

She felt sickness settle in her stomach as she thought about the man they had been doing business with.  She thought about all the interactions they had and the undercurrent of unrest between him and his wife in their presence.  Sansa thought about the moment that started it all, how Danny protectively held her then pregnant belly as Sansa threatened to kill her unborn child.

No man would allow someone to threaten his woman or his child.  Petyr had known that she had put Danny in her place, but he didn’t know the specifics of how.  Perhaps if she had told him, he would have seen this coming.  He was not naive like her.  Sansa felt her throat catch and her eyes sting as she realized that she could have killed Petyr with her words, sentenced him to death months ago.  

Sansa picked up the gun case and looked around the room.  The limo that they were going to ride off into was gone, and she had not brought her car.  She didn’t know if Petyr brought his or have his keys in the first place if he did.  “I need a ride.”  

What remained of her family looked up at her.  Bran was the first to speak, “I’ll pull my Charger around.”  

“No, you won’t.”  Robb stood up.  “Don’t think for a second I didn’t see you pop that pill.”  

“The peyote wore off forever ago, and some serious shit has gone way the fuck down.  Don’t judge me for finding a way to manage.”  Bran threw his hands up defensively.  “Besides, I was just trying to help.  Fuck this family.”  

Robb turned to Rickon, “Why don’t you tell Mr. Varys to come take care of the _presents_ in the closet when he has a chance.  And we should all get out of here while Varys finishes up with the police.  I’ll take Sansa where she needs to go.  Talisa, can you take Bran’s car and drive the boys back to the dorms?  I’ll come get you as soon as I can.”  

Talisa nodded and they embraced quickly.  Sansa felt her body stiffen as she watched theirs relax into each other.  As they broke apart, Sansa started for the door.  By the time she made it to the outside, Robb was beside her again, “It’s the light green Prius.”

 _Of course it is,_ Sansa thought but didn’t say.  As she got into the passenger seat, Sansa realized that it was a rental car when she saw the promotional items for the company sitting in the back.  It made sense since they were only in town for the wedding and not at her request.  She thought for sure that it was a play to get the money flowing again.  She reached over and punched the gym address in the gps.  

“Where are we going?”  Robb asked as he looked at the address she typed in.  

“A gym, as you can see.”  Sansa spoke sarcastically, “I can’t skip leg-day.”  

“Who are we going to kill?”  Robb cut through her attitude, his voice soft and honest.  When she didn’t respond, he didn’t let it go.  “Why else do you think I insisted it be me that came?  I didn’t want the boys to be accomplices.”    

That stung.  How did he do that?  He spent years away and then showed up and so easily read right through her.  He reminded her so much of their mother that it hurt.  Her mother had the ability to see through the crass and cruel and reduce them to simpering puddles with her serene candor.  

He kept the car driving to the gps directions as he spoke again, “Do you think that I don’t understand the things we do for love?”  

Sansa sat in the passenger seat, her arms protectively wrapped around the gun case, not speaking.  He continued, “Look at me.  I’m the perfect example, Sansa.”  He flashed his eyes at her quickly.  “I left you, just a kid, to raise other kids, so that I could be with her.  I couldn’t be away from the woman I love.”  

Having seen Talisa in person again after so long, and feeling the warmth that she generated, Sansa could see how he would fall so easily in love for her, forsaking the family.  Sansa had always hated him for it.  But now, remembering the night in the alley when the force of her feelings pulled her towards Petyr, her feet planted firmly on the pavement trying futilely to fight it, she understood.  Sansa offered Robb a bone, “You were a kid too, you know.”  

He wouldn’t let it go.  “Yes.  And I left to pursue a woman and a life outside.  My heart took over and there was no other choice to me, but love.  I could try to make it better by helping all the sick and dying by her side, all I want.  But it doesn’t take away the fact I walked, for love.  So Sansa, _I_ , of all people, _get it_.”  

“Why are you being so…?”  The words escaped her.  She wanted to say _nice_ but she remembered how he judged her over the phone for months.  She wanted to say _supportive_ but she still couldn’t believe that was what this was.  

He sighed as he responded, “Because.  Because, you are still my little sister.  And you are in pain.  And even though you _hate_ me, that does not mean I can let you suffer the way you are, not if there is something I can do to help.”  

Sansa was about to tell him that she didn’t hate him as they pulled into the parking lot of the gym and a black Hummer caught her eye.  She asked him to pull up behind it and read the license plate:   _KAHL4LF_.  Awareness prickled over Sansa as she knew instantly that it was Drogo’s.  Instantly, she gathered her hair up in a ponytail and grabbed the promotional hat from the back seat tucking her hair in it as much as she could, knowing how noticable her mane was.  Sansa opened up the case and pulled out the guns, preparing for the murder she would be committing in broad daylight.  

Robb watched her fly into action and followed her gaze toward the license plate.  “This guy?”  

Sansa nodded as she set the box on the floor between her legs.  Robb reached over, grabbing her arm and stopping her before she could hop out.  “Stop.  No one knows me.  I’m not from around here anymore.  Let me go in and get him.  I’ll run in and tell him I accidentally hit his car, to get him to come out and look at the damage.”  

She shook her head.  “No, it won’t work.”  

“Yes it will, or at least it always did.  Jon and I used to do it all the time for Dad, well until Mom found out anyway.”  Nerves pricked Sansa at mention of Jon, especially hearing about him in their younger years, helping her father with his _business_.  He had never told her that before.  

Robb had opened his door and was halfway across the parking lot when it occurred to Sansa that he was helping her murder someone.  She grinned a little as she got out of the car, sneaking back behind the prius, crouching out of sight.  She knew it was important that Kahl didn’t see her when he approached the car.  

As she sat back, crouched, she heard them approaching and Robb’s voice was high and friendly as he put on a show, “Sorry man!  I was texting my girl back home and I totally didn’t see as I was pulling in.”  

She heard feet scrape on the pavement and Drogo’s deep voice.  “Back home?  You’re not from around here?”  

“Nah man.  It’s a rental.  I’m just in town for the weekend.  One of my buds is getting married, I’m supposed to be meeting him.  I figured, make nice with my girl so she doesn’t freak out about the strip club later and next thing I know, BAM!  You know?”  Robb talked fast, and channeled part of Bran’s dialect.  Luckily, Robb toned it back a bit.  

“I don’t even see it.”  Drogo’s voice rumbled.  

“That’s cause it’s over around here, back on this side.”  Robb got him to come around out of view of the gym.  Drogo crouched, looking at the bumper.  “I still don’t see anything.  Hey, if you are doing a stag party, what are you doing at a gym?”  

Sansa rose up from behind and pointed both barrels at him.  Drogo slowly turned his head, taking her in and then he smiled knowingly.  “You can shoot me, but you’ll never make it out of this parking lot.  My men are just inside.”  

“Then why didn’t they come out?”  Sansa asked.  

Robb spoke in his normal voice, “Because ‘Tourist Robb’ is as non-threatening as they come, isn’t that right Mr. KAHL4LF?”  

Sansa cracked a smile realizing the truth to it.  “They aren’t coming out till they hear the first shot.  So tell me, where is he?”  

Drogo slowly stood up and crossed his arms.  “Does it matter?  Your man is long dead now.”

Sansa felt speared through her chest as the word _dead_ reverberated through her.  She barely heard him continue, “Nahaaris hired The Tickler to make sure his death was worth all the work.”    

“Get in the car Robb.”  She said as she raised the gun, barely conscious enough to know that they need to run fast.

Robb took one look at her and ran back around the car to the driver’s seat.  Once in, he reached across and opened the passenger door for her in anticipation.  Sansa raised her left hand and fired a bullet into Drogo’s head from _Mr. Baelish_ and then caught him in the heart as he fell with a bullet from _Mrs. Baelish_ in her right.  Unable to wait to watch the blood pool, she dove into the car, dropping the guns to the floor and closing the door behind her as Robb sped away.  

“Stay down.” Robb held her head below the dash.  “I’ve got this, I’ve got this, I’ve got this.  Fuuuck!!!”  The tires screeched and squealed.  

Robb eventually let go of her head, keeping a steady pace on the road.  He cursed under his breath and she just barely caught, “I left this, damn it.”  Sansa would have wondered what he was doing during the four years that he managed the Stark family affairs, if she could think anything other than Drogo’s voice repeating, _long dead now._

Feeling numb, Sansa reached into her pocket and pulled out Petyr’s phone, typing in the date of the gala again.  Her motion almost robotic as she pressed the icon labeled, _Vows_.

_The word ‘Love,’ is too weak a demonstration of what you mean to me, so I will not say it.  There is no end to the craving I have for you.  And I will let you feel my utter devotion to you by forever tearing down any obstacle between us and burying it beneath our feet.  That is how you will know my fealty to you--to us._

Any comfort she thought she would feel from reading the words was lost knowing that he was ripped from her forever.  She started thinking of what Drogo said:   _Nahaaris_.  She had suspected it was Daario, but the confirmation made her blood boil, which was a welcome contrast to cold sludge in her heart thinking about a life without Petyr.  

She had no idea how to find Daario Nahaaris.  He came from across the water, and Sansa didn’t know where, only that he used _all_ the port harbors the city had.  He could be at any one of them.  She felt a vibration in her hand and looked down.  A message from Mustang Sally popped up, _Pyke Harbour -- Alert x3.  Acquisition completed--no charge.  Would you like to pay for disposal?_

“Pyke Harbour-- now!”  Sansa screamed at Robb.  His foot jammed down on the accelerator in response, and she was pleased to see that they actually weren’t far off.  Sansa re-read the text, trying to understand it better.  She understood _acquisition_ and _disposal._ He had Daario, and wasn’t sure whether or not she wanted him killed or held.  Why wasn’t he charging for Daario?  And what in the hell did he mean by _Alert x3_?  Was Petyr still alive?!

She felt the seat belt cut into her chest as the car took hard turns and raced the setting sun to get across town, to get to _him_.  She had no idea what condition he may be in.  As they ran red lights, Sansa thought about how she would kill Daario, but found her own train of thought interrupted as she pictured various ways in which she may find Petyr, dead or alive.  

They screeched to a stop, pulling into the deserted harbour, Sansa understood why Daario would pick this hole in the wall to dock.  She saw Arya ahead of her through the windshield standing on the deck of the only boat docked.  She was stained red, from head to toe, resting one foot on a crate and her arms around a shotgun she held across the back of her neck.  Sansa threw the car door open and ran out, hopping the gap between the dock and the boat.  Forgetting her feet under her, she almost tripped to get to her.  

Arya stood, unmoving, her hair undone, matted together, caked in blood.  Sansa threw her arms around her, instantly grateful she was in one piece.  Arya released her grip on the gun and wrapped one arm around Sansa loosely, the other still held her weapon.  “I fell off my bike, you know.  Thank god for leather.  And you wanted me to wear a _dress_.”  

Sansa blinked looking at her, “This is from falling off your bike?”  She had seen the gun and the blood, and she knew that her sister wasn’t innocent to violence.  But there was a difference between a bar room brawl and the murder that stained her clothes.      

Arya looked down absently, “This?  Oh no.  This is from him.”  She pointed to the guy at her feet.  And then pointed at another body a few feet away, “And him.”  She pointed to the one next to it, “And him.  There’s more, but I didn’t think to count.  Adrenaline and all.”  Arya laughed sickly.  Sansa looked across the deck of the boat to see it littered with bodies.  She hadn’t noticed it before, from the moment she spotted her through the windshield, all she could see was Arya.  

“It wasn’t _all_ me, your man Bronn is fucking skilled.  But when I brought the shotgun out, there wasn’t much competition anymore.”  Arya lifted the gun, looking it over as she talked, “I still had them on my bike from when we went to the range months ago, can you believe that?  I’m lucky as fuck, I should buy a lotto ticket.”     

Sansa hugged her close, then gripped her face and kissed her forehead a million times, as if she was a lost child just found in the next aisle of the supermarket.  Arya started to pull out of the shock of the gore she bathed in, blinking her eyes at Sansa, “Your man’s alive.  Bronn called one of his doctors.  He’s been sewing him up.”  

Electricity surged through her as she sprung off of Arya, looking for a direction to run, “ _WHERE?!”_

Arya pointed towards the door to the cargo hold, “Down below, follow the bodies.”  Sansa glanced back just long enough to see Robb approach Arya and the carnage that lay at her feet.  

Sansa ran as fast as she could, feet thudding on the deck.  She turned the corner, through the open doorway, and down the metal steps that rattled with the force of her steps.  She skipped the last two, jumping forward, her heart bursting her chest as she landed and sprinted past more bodies.  She flew through doorways, chasing the trail of death and blood wash.  

Finally, she screeched to a stop in front of Bronn.  He didn’t speak, simply held his arm up indicating which direction.  And she followed, through a small doorway into a musty smelling room.  A surgeon stood there, mask and glasses obstructed his face.  His voice was firm as he spoke without looking at her.  “He will live.  I would say that he will need a hospital, but I know that isn’t an option.”  

Sansa walked on shaky legs towards the countertop that held Petyr’s motionless form.  Bloodied rags sat on him and littered the surrounding area.  The doctor continued, “As you can see, he’s lost a lot of blood.  That happens when someone is gutted.  I have the antibiotics piping in now and luckily they didn’t nick any of the organs, barely got through the stratum basale layer, actually.  To be so careful--it’s clear they really wanted to take their time with him.”  

 _Gutted?_  All the air escaped her lungs as she reached her hand out to touch his shin, wanting to feel any part of him under her fingertips.  Tears welled in her eyes, and her throat caught at the sight and feel of him.  Her Petyr, the man who exuded confidence, power, and violence, was reduced to a lifeless body, vulnerable to any threat, dependent on antibiotics and thin pieces of cloth to stay alive.  Everything that had attracted her to him was gone, and she was left with his greying pallor.  Seeing him so unlike himself made her want to gather him up in her arms and protect him, though she did not dare.  “I got him just in time.”  Bronn’s voice sounded from the door.  “Held his guts in and everything.”  

Sansa looked at the long line of bandages and tape that trailed down from stem to sternum.  Not realizing she was speaking out loud she breathed, “It was our wedding day.”  It was to no one in particular.      

She didn’t hear Bronn when he spoke so she shook her head pulling out of her sorrow and asked him to repeat himself.  He cleared his throat and said, “I could marry ya--if he wakes up enough to nod his head yes at least.  I take my marriages seriously, and I only do them legally.  He needs to consent.”  

Sansa blinked at him, processing what he was telling her.  “ _You’re a priest_?”    

“No.  But I am a Notary Public, and last I checked that counted as Marriage Officiant.”  Bronn smiled.  Sansa saw no humor in his expression, he truly was serious.    

Sansa looked back at Petyr, under a pile of bandages and bloody-red rags, bags and tubing connecting him to the land of the living.  She kept her eyes on Petyr as she asked the doctor, “How long before he wakes up?”  

“It is hard to say.  If he wakes up before daybreak, I would say he could survive being moved.  And I would need to visit daily if we’re gonna keep him out of the hospital.”  The doctor answered.  

Arya walked in, hearing only part of it.  “Why aren’t we just bringing him to a hospital?  We could drop him on the doorstep.”  

Bronn spoke, “Because, at this point if we move him before he wakes up, he could be worse off.  Lots of delicate stitching, right Doc?”  

The surgeon nodded, cleaning up all the rags.  “You can take him to a hospital if you want after he wakes up, but if you move him now, it could be fatal.”  

Arya sighed and walked over to to Sansa, giving her arm a gentle squeeze.  “Go.  I’ll stay with him.  I’ll call you if he wakes.”  

“Go where?”  Sansa looked back at her blankly.  There was a brief silence as neither sister spoke.  Arya offered her a sympathetic look as she held the gun case out to her.  Robb must have given it to her.  Sansa swallowed and accepted the case from her.  

Bronn spoke, pulling her away, “I am not charging for acquisition as it wasn’t me that caught your kidnapper, I did get his sick torture buddy though.  But I can not take credit.  It was Johnny-boy.”

Sansa’s heart squeezed at the mention of her longest most trusted friend.  Bronn explained as he lead them down the hallway, “He was like a madman.  Fucking possessed as he cut past everyone, straight to the source.  He hasn’t left his watch either, waiting for you.  Your wolfdog is well-trained.”  

 _Wolfdog_ .  Sansa had heard the term before, and understood it to mean a domesticated wolf.  She heard Tyrion’s drunken voice say, _Stark Wolf Pack._  And she remembered what Robb said in the car, that he and Jon had been working for her father when they were teenagers.  Sansa thought about the loyal way he protected her over the years, and she wondered if he truly was her _wolfdog._

At the end of the hallway was a small door that would require them to duck to enter, and Bronn nodded his head as he gestured for her to go first.  Affection bloomed in her chest as she pushed the door open and found Jon standing over both men unconscious, sitting back to back, bound to their chairs.  The black of his suit did not show the blood the way Arya’s pale grey leather did.  But Sansa could see in glistening texture just how drenched he was in his victims.  He looked up at her suddenly realizing she was there, and then quickly cast his gaze down, remembering the shame of their last encounter.  

Sansa rushed forward, wrapping her arms around him, as she accepted him back.  “I’m sorry, Jon.”  

He shook his head, no.  She grabbed his face with both hands, “Look at me.”  After she saw him bring his eyes up to hers, she continued, “ _You did good._ ”  

He nodded quietly and she stepped back.  Sansa turned back to Bronn who was leaning against the door frame.  “I need a knife.”    Bronn pulled one from behind his back and handed it to her.  

She walked around to the man she assumed was “Tickler,” the man who cut her Petyr and paused only a moment in front of his unconscious form before she jammed the knife in his belly and yanked it up as high as she could, the shrill screams piercing her ears as she met the resistance of his ribcage.  She was not strong enough in her arms to finish the job, so she looked up from the blood and the screaming at Bronn and said, “Finish up?”  

Bronn sighed, “I guess I’ll have to, if I want my knife back.”  

Underneath the hysterical blood curdling screams of the man watching his intestines falling out, Sansa heard frantic hollering and watched as Daario’s head thrashed around.  She slowly walked around to face him, taking her case with her.  She had thought of a thousand profound things she wanted to say to him.  And some things she wanted to hear from him.  But all of that changed when she came face to face with him.  It stopped being about making him suffer, making him feel what her Petyr felt.  And it became entirely about making him _no more_ .  She opened the case on the floor and pulled the guns out, not hearing a word he said over the music of Tickler dying.  Just as before, she raised her left hand and fired a bullet into his head from _Mr. Baelish_ and then shot him in the heart with a bullet from _Mrs. Baelish_ in her right.

She stared at his body slumped over his restraints and burned the image of retribution in her brain.  She then very quietly and calmly bent down and loaded the guns back in the box.  She spoke in a controlled voice as she stood back up, “Please do not leave, Bronn, I will pay you to stay until he wakes so that you can marry us.”  

Bronn chuckled, “Not a worry, Red.  I couldn’t leave if I wanted to.  Once your sister caught wind that we couldn’t bring your man to the hospital she pulled anchor and sailed us away.”  

“What?”  Sansa didn’t understand and handed Jon the case as she marched back for Petyr’s room.  

Arya was sitting on a bench, her face now at least cleaned of blood.  Sansa addressed her, “Arya, why are we _sailing_?”  

Arya sighed, “First of all, we are not _sailing._  We are _floating_.  Adrift.  I don’t know how to sail--”  

Bronn spoke up interrupting, “Good thing I do.”  And then he gave Arya a look that Sansa hoped was not flirtatious as he said, “I could teach ya sometime.  Now being a prime time.”

Arya looked back at him, eyebrow cocked.  He gripped the back of his neck, sighing with a down right dirty smile, “Well, when we’re ready to get back to land that is…”  

Sansa looked between him and Arya, flabbergasted.  She turned to Arya, hoping to see her give her trademark “I don’t have time for men” look.  But was instead shocked to see something different.  It looked like _interest_.     

Arya quickly looked away from her and down to the floor, hiding her smirk.  Sansa gave her a warning glare and Arya cleared her throat and refocused, “It’s because of the mess.  This ship is going to have to be burnt.  It can’t be sitting in the harbour, pushing our luck of no one happening to walk by and notice that it looks like a goddamned graveyard.  I sent Robb to go get his pretty wife and go back home.  It’s just us now and we’ll stay till Baelish lives or dies.  And then we’ll dock and unload the both of you before we burn it down.”   

Sansa had trouble finding the words, “How did you think of this?  It never occurred to me…”  

Arya sighed, “Well I didn’t.  It was Robb.  I poked my head in to see if your man was going to make it or not and when I came back out and told him, he gave me _instructions_.  Helped me lift anchor and everything.”  Arya looked up at her seriously, “It was actually kinda creepy--I did not expect that from him.”  

Sansa pulled a stool over to sit by Petyr’s head and lifted her eyebrows exaggeratedly as she said, “You and me, both.”  

And then she waited.  They all did.  They took turns sitting and pacing, always waiting as the hours passed.  Jon was the first to notice, slapping his hand furiously against the wall to get everyone’s attention as he pointed at Petyr with his other hand.  Sansa hovered over his blinking eyes as he made a raspy cough that reddened one of the bandages on his chest.  Tears welled up in her eyes as she heard him breathe the beginnings of her name faintly.  “I’m right here!”  She leaned down, showering his forehead and cheeks with kisses, sniffling as she did.  

Bronn’s voice sounded above them as he started reciting the words of the officiant.  Petyr must have noticed Bronn’s voice because his eyebrows furrowed.  Sansa ran her fingertips over his forehead, smoothing it as she smiled through her sniffles, “We are getting married today.  I _will not_ reschedule.”  

A smile grew across his face and Sansa chuckled nervously.  Jon came up beside her and held her free hand, giving it a firm squeeze when Bronn asked who would give her away.  She felt Arya’s hand rest on her shoulder giving it a similar squeeze of support.  Sansa wanted to smile back at them, but could not take her eyes off the green pools she had thought would never again stare back at her.  Petyr’s lips moved but made no sound, _Vows._  Sansa’s dimples hurt her cheeks as she answered, “I know, I saw them.”  

She wanted to tell him hers, but the doctor spoke, “If you seriously want to get married, you have to get to the ‘I do’s,’ he’s fading out again.”  

Bronn jumped ahead and Sansa declared, “I do.”  And Petyr’s faint, “I do” could be heard by all as anticipation silenced the room.  Sansa leaned in and kissed Petyr, and felt his feeble reciprocation against her lips.  She pulled away and pressed her cheek to his, “Sleep now, my _husband_ needs to regain his strength.”  

Petyr’s eyes fluttered shut at her permission and the Baelishes spent their first night as man and wife out on the open sea, by each other’s side, all obstacles torn down and gathered at their feet.      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading Part 3! I will be posting Chapter 1 from Part 4: Deadheading the Roses, later today. And then I'm taking a week off! So nothing will be added to it, and it's not that I have abandoned it -- it's simply that I'm taking a week off ;-) 
> 
> Also!   
> I kinda started an Arya/Bronn piece -- and am the first to post in this relationship tag!!! So if anyone was interested in what an Arya/Bronn thing looked like, I've started it...  
> [Wolfswood Tavern](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8312626/chapters/19035739)

**Author's Note:**

> This piece as well as all of my work to date is edited by Faradaze, whom I truly can not thank enough.  
> Please check out this piece by her:  
> [Slick As A Baby Seal](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7540495/chapters/17144578)


End file.
